


Thank you for the venom

by runaway_killjoy



Category: Falling in Reverse, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mob, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaway_killjoy/pseuds/runaway_killjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank quits school young to try find work to pay for his mother's hospital bills. He finds that the best pay for his age is also the most dangerous. Five years later Frank is still in his gang but circumstance throws him in the way of the leader of the rival mob. Even through his mental issues regarding emotion, Frank finds himself faced with a young man  he'd sooner die for than kill.<br/>Much darker and harsher than my other works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So give me all your poison

*FIVE YEARS AGO*

“Frank, it’s okay,” my mom coos, but it’s not. It’s not o fucking kay. “When I die you can live with your aunt in,” her sentence is broken by a fit of coughing and choking. She winces afterwards.

     “Mom…” I murmur. It’s not okay. The doctors said without the money we can’t pay for treatment and without treatment she’ll die, painfully. I’m fourteen years old so fuck this, I still need my mom. “I can get money mom.”

     She smiles at me. Our house is freezing cold. Electricity and heating bills are not a priority when my mom is dying.

     Cancer can just go fuck itself with a sword.

     “Frank dear, I’m going to ask my sister to come live here, okay?” She smiles meekly. Then comes another fit of coughing steals her remaining energy and when it calms she immediately falls asleep.

 

Quitting school is surprisingly easy. You just don’t go. They sent out letters addressed to my mom so I just burnt them at the back of our apartment block with Ryan. He’s like seventeen and not in school either so while my mom thinks I’m in class I go out with him and try earn money. Everything is harder when you’re working class and have no references.

     We did small, low paying jobs for example, packing bags in Walmart. Because we’re underage and begging for any money we get paid five dollars an hour and get no staff discount. One day Ryan gets till work. When we meet outside after an eight hour shift he shoves fifty dollars in my hand. “What?” I gasp looking at the fifty dollar bill, crumpled from belonging to someone else.

     “They had loads and there were no cameras or anything, just take it you fuck and help your mom,” he says and slinks off into the back alleys. We normally walk home together but he had said he had shit to do so I guess I’ll walk home in the increasing dark back to the cheapest part of New Jersey. Growing up where I did morals weren’t top priority but fuck this still doesn’t feel right. I shove the folded deeper into my old jeans and walk faster home.

     My mom is asleep when I get home. I sneak into the kitchen and fold my days’ pay into the empty jar under the sink, including the fifty. Another fifty and I’ll be able to pay for some treatment I think.

     I eat a slice of toast and go to sleep only to wake up and repeat the bag packing and apply at McDonald’s for extra work because thirty five dollars is bullshit.

    McDonald’s says no. I go back to Walmart and pack bags with Ryan at the till again. “I didn’t get another job,” I say between customers, “fuck being fourteen, can you get me some ID?”

     Ryan laughs from the register. “You’re too fucking short, bro. Even in like five years people aren’t gonna be the age you are then.” His smirk fades when he sees my face. “But look, I think I can find you something to do.”

     My eyebrows shoot up, “Yea?”

     “Tell ya later,” he says and greets the customer who’s just started unloading her bags of cat food, litter and wine. It’s my neighbourhood cat lady. I’m always nice to her, no one else is, but I am and she always tops me ten dollars. It really helps me feel like I get paid.

     We take a cigarette break when the shop is very calm again out the back. “So I was talking to my friend Ronnie yesterday, when you went home,” he speaks between drags, “We quit school same time only he disappeared, dark shit. Some of the lads say he winded up, others said drugs and gangs and shit. They were all right,” he grins, “but he was the danger guy, dealing and shit, and the cops new him so they pinned some murder falsely on him. He’s out now though and he can get me and “a trusted helper” work. If you want.” His grin is wide.

     “What kind of work?”

     “Probably dealings at first but you know, shit can get rough with gangs,” he leans close, “he’s part of Venom.”  
     Venom was one of the biggest drug gangs around. But it wasn’t just drugs, they do all sorts of dodgy shit. I scratch the back of my neck, “I don’t know…”

     “Pay for a day would be more than like a week here,” he says, putting out his cigarette, “just an idea, I know you’d want the cash.”

     We walk back in to the shop and begin what is practically slave labour, all over again. Yay for capitalism.

 

The way to wherever the fuck Ronnie is leading us in dark, dank and really complicated. I know a lot of back roads and lanes but Jersey is full of them. We take a few turns and suddenly we are so far from main road that I begin to feel very uncomfortable. We turn up a dark lane which is closely bordered by brick walls and the stink of overrun sewers. We’re walking faster now and Ronnie has loosened a knife in his sleeve. This doesn’t make me feel more comfortable. If Ryan is scared at all he doesn’t show it.

     “Hey Ronnie,” a girl’s voice calls. I look up and standing on a balcony in lingerie and long silky shawls, three girls are smoking. I can’t tell which spoke but they’re smiling down at us. “Special reduced price if you want six in a room,” one with massive red lips smirks down, “We don’t mind if the kid doesn’t.” I feel my throat tighten. I’m fourteen but I’m short so I don’t hold the mistake against them.

     Ronnie makes a horrified face and then forces on a grin, “Some other time Chandra,” he stiffens as a man appears on the other side of the road.

     “Your loss!” the Chandra girl calls and all the girls turn away just as we walk beneath their balcony. What I think is a cigarette but lands next to me. On closer inspection it seems to be something a little less legal then tobacco. Smoothly Ronnie waves us behind him as the shadowed figure approaches.

     “S’up Ronnie,” the dark guy says, he peers up at us through his hood. His eyes are wide but he seems stable enough to not beat the shit out of two guys and a “kid”. My eye is drawn to his arm where I see him relaxing something back into his sleeve. I decide I should get a knife.

     “Hi Howard, hoe’s it hanging?” Ronnie says, visibly relaxing.

     “Pretty good, got paid today,” he grins and gestures up to the balcony with his eyes. Ronnie grins and wishes him well.

     When we reach the end of this substantially long lane we turn onto another. Disorientated, I feel like we’re heading back towards the main road, near the library. “Farthest away from the road I’ve been in a while,” Ryan murmurs and Ronnie laughs, adding to my sense of being completely lost.

     We turn up one more lane and then Ronnie stops opposite a blank wall. “One second,” he says and sends something on his phone. A light appears in an upstairs window. A guy sticks his head out the window, cigarette in mouth. He looks at us and then drops the fire escape ladder that lands loudly a few inches from Ronnie’s feet. “Up we go,” he hums and begins the creaky ascent. I follow him and Ryan brings up the rear. Sliding in through the window after the older guy I’m hit by a thick stench of smoke, sweat and some other substance, probably an alcohol I don’t know.

     The room is cramped and there is only two adjoining rooms and a door to what I assume is the hall. The whole span is lit by a dim, flickering, naked bulb in the middle. The floor is covered more in dirt than the fuzzy grey carpet. There’s a couch inhabited by two guys smoking and lying deep into their seats. They’re higher than I’ve ever seen anyone and that’s terrifying. There’s a coffee table covered in ashes and bottles. One bottle is full of ashes floating in what looks like piss. There’s a kitchen if you could call it that, that’s where three more guys are perched at the boarded up window. There’s a box full of packets of a white powder at their feet. Cocaine probably. On the counter there’s a lot of tubs and bowls that have the white powder encrusted on it. At the foot of the counter there are boxes of washing powder and talcum powder.

     I feel very wrong here but try my best not to show it. “These the one’s you got?” A guy says walking forward from the window, “A kid?”

     “He’s old as I was, just short,” Ronnie says looking across at me. Ronnie was fifteen nearly sixteen, according to Ryan, but I’m hardly going to confess my age. The guy looks me in the eye and I stare back. I don’t what he’s trying to find, fear? Youth? Worry? Distrust? I stare back coolly and then raise a testy eyebrow.

     “Well you brought him here so fuck it. You need money is it kid?” The guy asks, blatantly scratching his balls. I nod. “We’ll ask the boss when he comes out what a guy like you can do.” He turns to Ryan, “friend o’ yours is it, Ronnie?”

     Ronnie nods and takes a seat between the two high guys. One of them greets Ronnie in a vague, slurred manner. “Hey Jay,” Ronnie says and the guy smiles. “Where’s the boss anyway?”

     The guy still standing in front of Ryan and I nods to a door leading off to one of the only two other rooms. The handle wriggles a tad before the door is pushed open to reveal a round, balding man in his mid-thirties dressed in only a towel. Steam enters the big room, mingling with smoke and adding to the breathing difficulty. I urge myself not to cough.

     “Who are these,” the man says, words echoing through his stomach in a weird ripple.

     “Hey boss,” Ronnie waves from the couch, “this is Ryan and the short one is Frank. You said you needed two more, I’ve found you two more.”

     “What age is the small one even,” the “boss” says, staring at me and rubbing his stomach, and then his belly button. Shivers shake through my whole body but I try not to show it. I just stand as casually as I can pull off.

     “The same age I was, only he’ll have me to keep him on track,” he raises his eyebrows teasingly at the guy who has now retreated to the window sill. “Unlike my advisers.”

     “No he won’t,” the boss says abruptly, “he’s to… young looking… he can stay and mix with me while you can take the other one out for other duties. Bring ‘em back here tomorrow at two. No one works tonight, it’s a break night, it’s salsa night.” He grins and throws a tomato that was just on the table at the wall and it smashes to bits. “Yea bring them back and-” gunshots and screaming go off in the distance. The boss leans slightly toward the entry window and grins. “What was I saying? Oh just bring ‘em back and we’ll get them to work.”

 

Ronnie tells me that the pay here is better than at any shop. “Unless it’s some bullshit designer bitch store where you can’t come in unless half your weight is made up of jewellery.”

     When I get home that night my mom is asleep on the couch with the tv still on. I gently wake her and help her to her bed.

     “Work” starts as soon as we get there. Ronnie shows Ryan where to put their little white packets and then they’re gone. All the other guys who were around in the room yesterday have left. When Ronnie and Ryan leave it’s only me and the boss. “You can call me CJ or Boss.”

     We stand over in the kitchen area over a giant mixing bowl. The boss makes us both wear masks so we don’t get extremely high off the raw stuff by just breathing around it. That must be why those men were all sitting by the boarded window. He makes me strip down to my vest. In the cold November weather it really pisses me off and there is no heat in the room. “Why can’t I leave my jumper on, like you?” I ask looking at the fully clothed man.

     “Because I’m the boss,” he says slyly. If you could feel sounds his sound would feel like the sludge the plumber took out of the sink back home a few years ago.

     As we work, me measuring precise amounts of the various white powders used to thicken out the coke, the boss stirring, I feel him move closer to me. Discomfort drives my instinct to punch him in the face wild.

     I move my hand to reach a tub of chalk when he stops me by placing his hand on mine. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck and his body against mine. Oh god I can feel him through his pants. I think I’m going to throw up.

     “I believe we shouldn’t pick and choose our laws,” he says, his voice muffled through the mask, as pressing in to me. “I break one so it would be hypocritical of me to call another one right and true. I have enough blood on my hands to not prosecute murder and violence, so why would I believe another law about something kind of the same.” He presses against me more and I feel myself shake. My stomach hurts from where the counter top edge digs into it. “You work for me, you work for all of me,” he mumbles and slides his hand away from my hand down to my crotch. “You’ll learn to get up for me. I’ll pay you more than the others. Much more. Only you can’t tell them because they’ll get jealous.”

     With a swift unanticipated motion he pulls my trousers down and rubs against my grey fading underpants. My mind is racing. I need the money. I need the money but I don’t need this. I’m not a whore. The boss moans short and grabs me by my top, dragging me toward the door that wasn’t opened yesterday, tossing our masks aside.


	2. What's life like bleeding on the floor

“Sing to me.”  
     “I can’t,” I whimper, his fingers digging into my throat, yanking my head downward.

     “I said sing!” I begin to choke as he pulls my head lower down onto him. I try sing, choking. I can’t breathe at all now, it’s all going dark. My signing turns to a scream.

     I fly upwards, still screaming, rubbing my throat as the wondrous sensation of freely breathing overcoming me. _It’s all over now._

It’s been five years since my mother died. _It’s all over now_ I’d thought when her coffin was lowered. I had struggled for two months, paying for food for me once I checked her into the hospital. She died pain free so I didn’t mind going hungry. Asking anyone now maybe it was not eating at all for two months and taking up heavy smoking is what stunted my growth so much that now at nineteen I’m only three inches taller than I was age twelve. I, however, believe it probably had something to do with the exposure to raw drugs. I didn’t take any at all until I was seventeen but the mixing and living around them probably stopped me from becoming a normal sized man.

     I didn’t go to live with my aunt when my mom died. She never came for me, I never reached out to her. She came to the funeral and left the next day, disgusted with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol that floated around my fourteen year old self.

     _It’s all over now._ It’s hard to organise a funeral for a man that made his living by not being known. In all the time I worked for him, the boss only seemed to leave his apartment three times, on the third time he was shot.

     I pull myself out of bed. Ryan is already awake. Or maybe he didn’t sleep here. His duvet on the bed a foot from mine, is tossed around and his shoes are missing. Affording to keep my mom in hospital was difficult enough but when she died the little government support we got went and a fourteen year old can’t live alone anyway. Ryan and I moved in with Ronnie and we all still live together though as was the nature of my old job I often didn’t get to sleep here. And when I did it was incredibly difficult to actually sleep.

     Ronnie is in the kitchen/living room eating a bowl of cereal. I pour myself one. “Don’t forget to wear black,” he jokes dryly. As if I wore colour anywhere anyway.

     Ryan appears from the bathroom, fully dressed but with damp hair. “Is this safe?” he asks nervously.

     “The MG are murdering assholes but I doubt they’ll attack when we’re at a funeral,” Ronnie replies with a mouth full of cereal, “they might send someone around to get a good look though. See who is in the gang.”

     Ryan makes a face, “Fuck that. What if they just take a look to kill us later?” It no longer strikes me as weird how we talk about murder so casually. In fact nothing illegal really seems illegal anymore. _I believe we shouldn’t pick and choose our laws._

     “We can’t have no one put him in the fucking ground,” Ronnie says throwing his bowl in the sink. “Someone needs to make sure that the fucking asshole is never seen again.”

     “Do I have to go?” I murmur. Ryan and Ronnie throw me empathic looks. I hate the boss. I hate him for what he’s done to me and how he threatened to rid the world of Ronnie and Ryan if I didn’t comply.

     “If the others see you’re not there it could go much worse,” Ryan says awkwardly.

     Ronnie nods. “True,” I concede. My pay has really dropped now that we’re under Jed. Venom has grown to the biggest gang in Jersey and we went from employing ten when I started to employing twenty. My rank was high from the begging, Ryan’s status grew as more new people came in below him.

     I’d say I’m around sixth most important after Ronnie. Ryan is about eighth but he doesn’t seem to mind me being above him. No one really rues me my position. No one begrudges my immediate rise. No one has anything to say against my importance because no one would have taken my place as the boss’s concubine. That part of my work is so degrading that no matter how much I was paid the damage that was done couldn’t be fixed.

     I don’t think I even have a sexuality anymore.

     We arrive at the cemetery outside of town to see the coffin be lowered. No one cried. In truth if you cried you didn’t know the boss and you’d probably get the shit beaten out of you. I got a flu once and feinted because I was so weak and tired. When I woke up, still lying in the middle of the floor my cigarettes were gone and my nose was badly bleeding from where someone kicked me in the face and wrote _Baby_ on my forehead in my own blood. I feinted again on the way to the bathroom from lack of blood. Ryan helped me up, cleaned me off and put plasters where necessary. I was only fifteen and later found out the guy who wrote on my face, in my blood, was twenty eight at the time, a total asshole who got shot a few weeks later by MG.

     No one says anything. We all just go home to our separate homes, taking unusual routes so we’re not followed. None of us talk in Ronnie’s car. In fact we just all smoke. When we pull up behind the apartment block Ronnie speaks, “I don’t know what I think of Stan as new leader.”

     “What do you mean?” Ryan says undoing his seatbelt. I know what he means, he means Stan has anger issues and can be very irrational. Also Stan is very okay with murder and that’s why no one wants to tell him no.

     “He’s fucking crazy,” Ronnie sighs and kills the engine.

     “He is, isn’t he? At least he doesn’t hate us and leaves us with the same jobs,” Ryan says getting out of the car.

     I follow them out, “I don’t thinks he wants me to keep my position.”  
     “Did he say something to you?” Ronnie asks, surprise filling his voice.

     “No but y’know he always wanted to do that, he’s hardly going to do street work.”

     “Yea but he could do customer service,” Ronnie grins. Customer service means dealing with people who owe money, people who want to borrow money, and working with the very powerful people. A lot of celebrities’ have us as suppliers of their drugs, including some of my favourite local bands. Of course I never get to see them. I never see anyone really, I’m always fucking hidden away mixing shit. When the boss was alive he rarely let me out of the mixing house and never let me leave. No one at all outside Venom knows who I am. That thought just feels weird. As far as the government is concerned my mother’s death should have put me somewhere but I left the charts. I have no educational, medical or tax history. I’m just a living ghost really.

     Back in the flat we have nothing to do. “What do we even do… like in the afternoon?”

     “Drink?”

     “Drink.”

     “Drink.”

     I still can’t get served. I have an ID and I’m covered in tattoos. All I get is “nice try, get a real ID when you’re the right age.”

     Ronnie pulls out all the vodka, illegal spirits and beer we store in the food cupboards.

 

“So I keep mixing?” I say when I turn up the next day at three pm.

    “Well yea, who else will do it?” Stan says like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I need to go take car of one of the boss- ex-boss’s debts,” he shoves a hand gun in his pants and a knife in his sleeve pocket. He leaves, now only me, cocaine, heroin and various pills are left. It would be very easy to be a druggie like a lot of the guys here, only I see what it can do to you. I see all the people who we have to “take care of” because they go insane from trying to get their next fix. One guy killed his wife to get her life assurance and buy more heroin. It’s so fucked up, he got arrested and then died in jail. Another guy overdosed right in front of me. He was on the couch that first night. When I was sixteen I saw him take twice as much pills as we would deem “so fucking stupidly dangerous” and minutes later he was lying dead in a his own puke in the bathroom. After that most of the guys really calmed it on the pill popping.

     I stand at the kitchen counter and measure out the brand new cocaine. There’s still a board on the windows but there’s a crack just big enough that I can still see the world. I look out it for a while. Suddenly I see him in the reflection of the window, standing behind me. “Come Frank,” he smiles and then he’s shoving me against the wall and holding me in place as I scream. It goes completely black before I slap my head off the floor next to the counter. He’s not there. Of course he’s not there, he’s dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the chapter titles are lyrics in the song I named the fic after, by the way.  
> Thank you for reading, i think i might keep writing this because i have the story planned out completely and i'm excited to write it :)


	3. Keep a gun on the book you gave me

Stan keeps an insane weapon control. I think it could be some form of paranoia because he insists you leave your weapons in plain view when you’re around him. One time Jay forgot about one, a small not even very sharp knife in his belt and Stan refused to pay him for a week and constantly muttered about trust. If they weren’t pretty good friends I’m sure he would have beat him up or got someone else to, only Jay was the one that usually bet people up for Stan.

     I never had a weapon anyway, what would the mixing guy need with anything more than a knife really. This hit Ryan and Ronnie hard though. Their line of work, which was dealing normally but is now dealing to dealers, requires persuasion. They get threatened more than anyone really so having a revolver and being able to use it is always helpful. They’ve never killed anyone I don’t think.

     I’m just finished packaging the cocaine now and I think I’ll check over the stocks of pills. So many are just anti-depressants and other prescription drugs people can’t get. I don’t know how we get them but it seems to be our biggest profit. I think we stole them but I don’t know. I watch the money for us but I’m still kept in the dark about where the money comes from. When I’m finished mixing and packaging I sit on the couch and open the big money book.

    They make me look over the fucking “ledgers” which is just ruled pages where I write in sales.

     The door bursts open and Ryan and Ronnie come in with Jay carried between them. His trouser leg has been ripped away and a bullet wound goes right through his calf. His blood is trickling down his leg. “Fuck,” I gasp jumping up. “What happened?!” There’s also a patch of blood on his shoulder and a dark circle. He’s been shot twice, I think he’s passed out.

     “Some fucking addict shot him with a fucking double barrel rifle. Who has a rifle in suburbia?!” Ronnie grunts and between them, he and Ryan lower Jay onto the floor.

     “Put him on the couch!” I say running to find bandages or something to stop the bleeding.

     “And have him stain it in blood?! Anyway his wounds would hurt too badly, they’d be rubbing off everything.”

     “Where were you when this happened?” I groan getting water for the wound. I think cleaning it might but what do I know. Where the fuck is Chubs, he deals with this shit.

    “We were meeting with a college kid when he called us. Stan confiscated his big gun, with two bullets in him he manages to kill the fucker with a knife. Then he lay bleeding in the guy’s hall until we got there! He passed out in the car. Where is chubs?!”

     “I don’t know,” I say unsure what to do, we all crouch around Jay as his uneven breathing makes us all more and more worried.

     Chubs arrives about half an hour later after running all the way from New York. He is so out of breath by the time he gets here. He removes the bullets from Jay, cursing as blood squirts out of his leg. He cleans the wounds, wraps them up and when Jay wakes for a minute he feeds him a pill, one of the prescription painkillers we have.

     Chubs is no doctor but he’s good enough. He learned how to stop the rest of us from dying. None of us can afford medical bills and worse; a medical history. We just try our hardest to not exist as far as anyone else can know. Adopting a nickname is a good way to do this, I think only the old boss knew Chubs’ real name.

     “Will he be okay?” Ryan asks, stretching his legs.

     “I think so. If those wounds don’t get fucking infected. They’ve been exposed for so fucking long. Hours like.”

     “There was nothing we could do!” Ryan groans defensively. They could have took him to the doctors. I laugh at my own joke. “We have to get rid of the fucking car now, people might have seen it drive away from the house where there is now a dead guy.”

     “We’ll burn it out in New York somewhere,” Ronnie sighs. It was his car, one of the few things he owns. The only thing he got legally.

 

Stan is insanely angry with Jay. As soon as he gained consciousness, Stan went on a characteristic rage. This seems to be an attribute of leaders; they can get very pissed off.

     And very aggressive. When Jay protests saying, “But you done take my fucking gun, what was I s’posed to do. My job that you fucking gave me was to get the money an’ I did,” Stan punched him, causing his nose to bleed but not breaking the big tough bone.

     Jay got very angry at this but did nothing. What could he do? He just sat and brewed over the wrongs he’s been done. The rest of us just stood around awkwardly.

     “Come Frank,” Stan gestures me over. Shivers run through me and it takes all my strength to see. Black at the edge of my vision threatens to take over as the Boss’ voice rings through my head, muttering the same words. I stumble toward him. Suddenly Ryan’s at my elbow, walking me steadily over murmuring “It’s Stan, it’s okay,” over and over.

     I push the black from my vision but I can feel my eyes watering with effort.

     “Pay everyone as due. Dock Jay the price of the pills he’s taking for his fucking injuries,” Stan says, pretending not to notice my shaking.

     “Yea sure,” I croak.

     “When you’re paid get the fuck out unless you’re sleeping here,” Stan declares and walks into his bedroom. That horrible, horrible room. Why did he even decide he’d continue to live here? I can’t imagine anyone voluntarily sleeping in that disgusting place. Every time the door opens and I see inside it makes me want to puke up my guts.

     When he’s gone I begin paying everyone. I leave Jay, Ronnie, Ryan, and myself till the end. Ronnie is going to burn the car out somewhere and I coming with him to buy a new one. “Here,” I say to Jay putting the money in his hand. Howard who is sleeping here turns away, “This is your normal pay, I’ll fix the books so Stan never notices. He probably wouldn’t anyway. It’s not your fault you were fucking shot.”

     “Thanks,” he smiles. He’s not exactly smart, Jay, and no one can say any of us are “good people”, but Jay is loyal and I’m hoping to build up his loyalties to me rather than Stan.

 

Ronnie and I take the subway to the outskirts of New York. We left his car in flames under the growing dark skies at the back of a poor neighbourhood. It’s not an uncommon sight here and no one will suspect that it was involved in a murder in Jersey.

     “Where are we going?” I ask Ronnie as we climb the stairs to ground level.

     “A second hand dealers. I know the guy’s cousin.” A good enough explanation. I know Ronnie didn’t take me for the company, I have access to the accounts and funds and shit. I can give Ronnie a thousand bucks toward the new car and make it look like I never did.

     We walk for a while until we are in an area that isn’t quite the city or the suburbs. “Bryar’s Buys” is written in big, red metal words above the drive.

     We walk past the rows of old cars to get to the building. Inside we find a guy, about four years older than me, covered in oil at the front of a car. “One sec,” he grumbles at us and ducks under the hood. I hear a cracking sound, a sizzle and a “Fuuuuuuck”.

     After a four or five minutes the guy stands up straight again. He wipes his hands on a rag and then walks over to us. “Looking for a car?”

     “Yea. My friend Devlin recommended you,” Ronnie says smoothly.

     “Like my cousin?” the guy says rewiping his hands, this time on his pants.

     “Yea,” Ronnie smiles cool.

     “Bob Bryar,” the guy extends his hand, “What kind of car d’you want.”

     “Ronnie Oaken,” Ronnie says, never using his real name, “nothing older than five years, not a mini, diesel too. Oh and under two grand”

     Bob looks thoughtful. “I have four you might want to have a look at. This way.”

     We follow him to the back of the yard. “This one,” he says gesturing to a black Honda. He and Ronnie talk specs and price. I stare off into the distance. When they’ve agreed a special price for “friends of Dev’s” Ronnie decided to take a test drive, leaving me to awkwardly converse with the car salesman.

     By the time Ronnie pulls in, grinning widely, me and Bob are grinning over a common interests: Iron Maiden and the Misfits. “I’ll take it” Ronnie says without getting out of the car.

     “Don’t you even want to see the other cars?” Bob asks, eyebrows raised.

     Ronnie shakes his head, grinning, “Get in Frank, here you go Bob,” he passes out a wad of cash.

     “Do you want a receipt?” Bob says bewildered. “Nope, I’m good.” I sit into the passenger seat and as I say goodbye, Ronnie drives us away.

 

“It was fucking new!” Ronnie rages. Stan stands back quietly. He can be angry but intercepting Ronnie in his rage would be suicidle. “Fucking new! To me at least! Cost me two grand! How did you not know! You must have fucking known!” he kicks an empty box against the opposite wall. “Bullshit Stan. Get your fucking shit together!”

     “It’s not my fault Ronnie,” Stan says defiant and quiet.

     “Yes it fucking is! If you can’t get your shit together enough to _know_ who’s being recognized, what the fuck makes you good enough to lead us?!” Everyone in the room takes a sharp intake of breath. Dangerous ground, Ronnie.

     “Calm the fuck down, Ronnie, they’ve let us all know they know who we are, what makes you the fucking master of disguise that they wouldn’t know you too? You could have guessed,” Stan says trying to gain volume and stance against Ronnie’s blind anger.

     “Shut the fuck up Stan. You better pay for the fucking wheels.”

     “I’ll pay Ronnie if you’d just calm down. We’ve all been singled out.”

     “Not like this!”

     “Howard and Lee got a rock through their window. Gavin’s girl got ambushed! And what about my fucking apartment!”

     Ronnie falls silent. He’d forgotten about Gavin’s fiancé Chantel who got attacked outside a night club and had the words _Hi Venom we know this one too –MG_ cut into her arm. The same was written on the note that accompanied the rock that went through the window. The same was scraped into the side of Ronnie’s new car when it was parked outside target. The tyres were slashed and the windows broken. We only just got it yesterday. We all know though, that Stan is the most afraid. He got his apartment set on fire. That’s the main reason he lives here now.

     “Fucking bullshit. They know all of us and we know what, three of them?!” Ronnie spits.

     “Maybe there’s only three,” Jay says.

     Ronnie rolls his eyes. “There must be more than three. They’re the second biggest gang around,” he smirks, “other than us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the rest of the band coming soon*  
> Thank you for reading and I think the next chapter will be up tomorrow :3


	4. Fire at will

I thought the nightmares were getting better. Well more hoped. All the hope in me left when I woke up soaking wet to see Ronnie holding an empty glass that obviously just had water in it and Ryan kneeling on my bed, his hands on my shoulders where he had just been shaking me. Apparently they were unable to wake me. I was screaming and thrashing.

     When I calm down Ronnie stumbles back to his room. “This isn’t okay. It’s been going on way too long.” Ryan asks, rubbing his eyes.

     “Since I was fourteen?” I say. Yea okay that is a fucking long time. “Fucking nightmares.”  
     “Frank… I can see… that it’s not only night…” he sits on his bed facing me, “I know it’s more than nightmares.”

     I shiver. “Yea.”

     “Well if you ever want to talk or…”

     “No it’s okay. Let’s go back to sleep now anyway,” I say. I don’t want to talk, what even is there to say.

      When I fall back asleep the terrors continue. Sleep used to be my escape. Sometimes when I slept I’d face the terrors but sometimes I’d dream of nothing. Nothing nights were the best, like days of peace during my own war. In the day time I’d have to face the terrors that now haunt my sleep.

 

We all have texts the next morning from Stan. _I have pasta ready for one._ If you’re not in the gang this text probably looks fucking weird but _pasta_ means plan. Just a code word in case people hack our phones. We all get to the flat at different times but all before one.

     “Okay,” Stan says addressing the room crowded with the first three layers to the gang. The main fifteen people. The ones that have broken some sort of barrier to get into “the circle of trust” either by sticking around a while or by proving themselves someway. “So I was thinking about Ronnie’s car.”

     I see Ronnie stand up straight. He’s still waiting for the tyre money.

     “And I realise that they know all of us. Every one of us except one. One who thinks he’s fucking vital to the gang but obviously not fucking vital enough that he’s been noticed,” murmurs surround me. People playing a form of guess who. I know who he’s talking about though. “So I think we should send this vital person on a vital task to get into their gang.”

     “Stop saying fucking vital Stan,” I growl. I don’t think I’m fucking “Vital”, Stan just wants to make me out as a cocky asshole. “I get you learned a new word today, well done,” I clap sarcastically, “But here’s another new one: Shutthefuckup”.

     “Watch your mouth Iero or I won’t give you this _vital_ task,” Stan says, narrowing his eyes. I only realise now that everyone is looking at me.

     “So… how do we get Frank into their ranks… at all?” Someone says.

     “The baker,” smiles Stan.

     I’m pretty sure everyone raises eyebrows. Stan grins, he loves having knowledge the rest of us don’t. He feels fucking high and mighty like a fucking king not some white trash leader of a drug gang. “I might have stumbled in on a local baker’s meth lab.” Bursts of laughter bubble to the surface from everyone.

     “What the fuck,” someone laughs, “Come on how really?”

     “I’m serious. I found s fucking meth making baker who deals to MG. I promised I’d keep that secret but he owes me a favour. I’ll get him to get Frank a placement. He only knows me as David Fyrne so MG will not know he’s to do with us,” Stan looks smug and his grin eyes turn poisonous when they meet mine. Fuck him, he can’t now just send me off into another gang.

     “But where will I live?” I ask.

     “With MG. You’ll find out where they’re based. You’ll find out also who is in the gang. You can text me pictures. And most importantly you can find out who is the leader.”

     “And kill him,” Jay says. His wounds have kept him from leaving the flat. He just gets more aggressive and restless with each passing hour.

     “Yes.” Stan’s reply shocks most of us.

     “You want me to kill this dude?” I say, shocked.

     “Yep. Come with me, we’ll go to the bakers now,” Stan says and leads me toward the door. Everyone holds back their shock. “Oh and if any of you see Frank with others, don’t acknowledge him.”

     Stan opens the door and walks into the hall. Ryan grabs my wrist and leans to my ear, “meet me in target Thursday at five if you can. Good luck,” he shoves me into the hall after Stan.

 

The bakery is down the road and around a block. We walk in and there’s three other customers there. The baker, a guy with crazy-ass hair tied back into a knot, sees Stan and his expression becomes a stiff polite one. When the customers leave the guy nervously fumbles with his apron. “Hi David,” he says.

     “You still interested in doing me that one favour, Ray?” Stan says in a weird, southern almost, accent.

     “Yes, sure,” he smiles.

     “This is my nephew Frank. Well, he’s been having a tough time. All these tattoos and no one’s employing him,” he pokes the scorpion on my neck hard, “so I was wondering if you could get him in with your boys? He’s a good worker, not afraid to do the tough stuff either. I’m a bit like a marshmallow but he’s built for this kinda thing. Never been a soft boy.”

     I don’t know how to take this description. Neither, it seems, does the Ray guy. He scratches his arm. “Well, I don’t know…”

     Stan goes serious. “It’s not much to ask. They don’t even have to pay him. Just keep him off the streets at night, a place to sleep like. And some to eat. There’s only so much I can do for the boy,” Stan’s smile returns. This accent is really beginning to disturb me.

     Ray gives an empathic smile, “Okay, they owe me this much. Frank,” he turns to me with a smile, “You can come on back, into my house, take a shower or something until Guy gets here. Would you like some bread? Cake? Pie?”

     “No I’m good,” my voice takes him aback a little.

     “How old are you?” Ray asks, handing a pie to “David”.

     “Nineteen.”

     “Oh good. That’s okay. I thought you were younger.”

     “Everyone does.”

     “Alright,” Stan butts in. “I really must be on my way. Thanks for pie and placement, you’re a good guy.”

     “I do my best,” Ray smiles, bushing. “See you around!”

     Stan leaves casting me a warning look. I follow Ray into the back where the ovens are. He sends me up the stairs and straight through to his landing. I had a shower this morning but whatever it was something to do.

 

Guy came as the bakery was closing. Ray went into the back to get a “special delivery of jam buns” and called me down. He gestured Guy into the kitchens with me. Ray explained my presence. Guy frowns. He’s not very tough looking. In fact he looks quite cool and smart for a guy here to collect a batch of meth. “You won’t even have to pay him, just food and a roof over his head.”

     Guy’s forehead creases as if in deep thought. “Is there somewhere I could make a private call?” he asks after Ray has made a convincing speech considering he doesn’t actually know me.

     “Up there.” I wait around in the kitchens while Ray goes out to close up shop and Guy makes the phone call.

     “Frank is it?” Guy says rounding the corner back into the kitchen. “Help me carry these boxes. Welcome to MG. You better fucking watch yourself boy now.”

     We scoop up the boxes and make our way out the front door and into the car. Ray waves us off, grinning with relief.

     The MG headquarters is surprisingly close to my own apartment. A few blocks away. It will be easy enough to get to the target. We get out of the car parked in an alley and begin to walk deep into the shadows. After a while we come to a door. Guy unlocks it and we climb the stairs to the fifth and top floor. “We own the top three stories,” he says proudly knocking in a pattern on the door.

     It opens soon after and I follow guy into a large kitchen/sitting room. The only two, small, windows look out onto another building though from here it’s only brick. In the kitchen area a guy with dyed black hair and fading jeans is standing over a bowl of instant noodles at the counter. In the living room part two guys sit watching a game and in the window sill overlooking nothing a tough as fuck looking girl sits on her phone. She looks like she’ll beat the shit out of you very easily.

     “This the kid?” Noodles guy says.

     “Yep,” Guy sets the baked goods box down on the kitchen table. I do the same.

     “Ever do illegal shit before… Frank?” the guy says and then slurps his noodles. “We won’t judge.”

     “I ran a supply of cigarettes and drink to kids when I was in school,” I say. A lie but a likely one. Saying I mixed cocaine and shot at addicts for five years would sound bad.

     “That mustn’t have been easy, looking as young as you do,” the guy says taking another slurp and raising a single brow.

     I naturally raise my defences, “yea it fucking wasn’t but it was money.”

     “Good money too. But we pay better,” the guy smiles and finishes his noodles. Only now do I notice the photos and the words on the wall over the couch. All of them are photos of my friends and colleagues. There’s a photo of Ronnie’s car under Ronnie and beside that a photo of his old one. I try not to stare at it but its mesmerising. So many fucking faces I know. Most of them looking sort of drunk. Then I see the one of Chantel’s arm. And her face.

     I shake myself slightly and look back at the guy with the growing out brown roots and dirty Iron Maiden hoodie. He’s measuring me with his eyes. Trying to figure out who I am. “Have you got any stuff? Like at all?”

     “No, I was on the fucking street before this,” I say realising I actually have no clothes or weapons.

     “Starting from the bottom,” the guy grins and puts his bowl in the sink he walks over to me and extends a hand, “I’m Gerard. Welcome to my gang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop and so the story really begins :3 Thank you for reading and i promise I'll update soon.  
> ALSO just one thing if you like the band of Mice & Men: that thing about Austin drugging and raping that girl is ridiculous. People are so quick to see people in a bad light that it only takes one fucking Instagram comment to make everyone lose their shit. I don't want to pretend i know him but that is 10000000% not an Austin thing, just somebody looking ruin someones life. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh. Sorry, rant over bye :)


	5. You're running after something you'll never kill

The last person leaves. It strikes me as weird the way I’ve only worked here two days and they trust me enough to leave me alone in Gerard’s own apartment. Gerard is the leader of MG, I found out the same day I arrived. He shares this apartment with his brother. For some reason when I said I had nowhere to stay, Gerard immediately said I could live here with him, that Mikey mainly sleeps in other places and . This all strikes me as fucking weird but only really in terms of Venom. I never really lived outside that small society and I guess they could be completely fucked up. You can’t really choose which fucked up things are okay. _We shouldn’t pick and choose our laws._

I sit on the couch and kick my legs. What else could I do really? I have no idea when any of them are back. _Not for a while anyway it’s a fucking Friday night_ I think to myself. I could go snooping around. I could have a look in their ledgers, I understand that shit. At least I do the way I write them out. I could look at their stocks. I could send photos to Stan. I’ve only sent one so far; a picture of the wall covered in pictures. I realised as I took the photo that there was five blurry pictures: all of me. They think that I am five different people they can’t properly identify me because I’m always turning a corner with Ronnie or Ryan or in one horrible case at the boss’s funeral, blurred to look like there is two of me, one taller than I could dream to be. This freaks me out. They knew I existed but they didn’t know my face, ever. They also they don’t know that I’m one guy, one short guy.

     Stan replied _Interesting_ and then I deleted the conversation.

     I went to target Thursday at five. Unfortunately I had to go with a girl called Shanty. As far as I know there are two girls in MG. There could be more because every fucking day I meet someone new. It seems like this gang outnumbers mine about three to two. In target I met Ryan in the dairy as Shanty picked up fruit and veg. He asked me how it was going and how I’m holding up. I told him I’m fine, it’s fine. He asked about the dreams and daylight terrors and I said I had to go.

     I lie lengthways on the couch. And reach for the remote. Somehow I fall off the edge. It feels like someone’s pressing down on me and I can hear something, panting maybe. I panic and try to pull myself back up onto the couch. My vision goes black and I’m left trying to scramble free of the invisible weight, my breath as loud as my heart and almost as fast.

     Two hands scoop under my armpits and lift me free of the weight. I feel the couch rise up to meet me, or maybe me be lowered to it. When I open my eyes, I hadn’t even realised I’d closed them, I see Gerard staring back wide eyed at me. I blush.

     “Are you okay?” he gushes. The flat door is wide open and a plastic target bag is lying on the floor, several bottles of vodka rolling out. I nod. “I thought you were having a fucking stroke. Fuck! What was that?”

     I go to speak but a mix of not knowing what I want to say and shock only allows me make a small choked sound. He sits on the coffee table in front of me his eyes wide and full of concern. “I’m just a little fucked up, up here,” I manage to choke out after a while, tapping my head. I really didn’t need everyone to know that gem about me.

     His expression softens, “You should’ve told me, you like live with me.” I had no idea how young he is. Only looking him in the eye now I think he must be closer to my age than Stan’s. Hid eyes shine very brightly but his pupils are a normal size, other than that I would be convinced he’s high all the time.

     I shake myself back to the present moment and task: “Yea it’s not something I usually say.”

     “Yea I get it. You’re only new and probably not too trusting yet,” he stands up, “We all have supreme trust in MG. Only a little trust would be pointless. Adequate trust; also pointless,” he walks over and picks up the vodka and closes the door, “If we decide to trust someone we trust them completely from the start. That’s why you’re here now, in my own apartment and that’s why we trusted you to deliver that cocaine to Big Paul. We can’t work on double dealings and only half the people knowing what’s going on. That’s why we’re so successful. We trust. We may be fucking picky with who we trust, but when we trust them we do it completely. And we trust you. Would you like to drink with me? I don’t really go out.”

 

Saturday is always a busy day. It’s the day most people have free to buy from us. When I leave my tiny bedroom Saturday morning Gerard is in talking to a man in the sitting room part of the main room. “Would you get us some coffee, Frank?”

     I wipe my eyes and nod. I press the button on the pot and begin to focus in on Gerard’s voice, “Well he did send you to the right guys. Only, you must know terms and conditions are as evident on this deal as on a half price washing machine.”

     “Yes, I’m aware. Could you maybe fill me in a little more?” The guy asks.

     “We lend you as much as you want. The only limit is reasonable, yea,” you can hear his smile, “you also have a cap of fifteen months to pay back. Interest only one percent at first. Doubling each time of course.” Fuck he’s clever. Stan and the Boss give set time and interest, this must be why they grew so much so quick. Even five years leaves a thirty two percent interest, but people don’t think that, they think one percent if they’re fast.

     “Is one million available?” the guy asks. I pour the coffee.

     “Yes, in cash. We only deal in cash,” I walk towards them and see an extremely cool expression on Gerard’s face. I always wondered what handsome actually is like. I can’t remember really back when I was younger. I didn’t really like girls but I said I did because that’s what boys did. I think if I had to choose an example of handsome it’d be Gerard. I don’t know why it just seems right. I hand them their coffee when Gerard caught me staring at his face.

     “Excellent, thank you… What’s your opinion on uh, taking care of people,” the guy looks nervous. He’s in a suit but a wrinkled one so you know he’s not really used to business man shit yet.

     “We do it, what kind and who. You know our price varies,” Gerard is smiling coolly over his mug.

     “What?”

     “Want us to fuck with the person, like ruin their car, steal their mail, rob them, etcetera, one hundred and fifty,” the other guy breathes in sharply. I realise I’m just standing there and hurry off to the kitchen to get food while listening. The guy must think I’m fucking stupid. “Want us to injure or maim; three fifty.” The guy nods slowly in the reflection of the window. “Finally, you must know that making him disappear is a lot more. It’s more dangerous and the consequences are more serious. One thousand dollars.”

    The guy purses his lips and scratches his chin. My toast pops up just as he says, “I have five hundred bucks now, the other hundred when he’s gone. And I mean gone, gone.”

     “Sure! Who?” Gerard extends his hand.

     “This guy,” he takes out a wad of cash from his coat inside pocket. He fumbles a bit before pulling out a photo and a scrap of paper. “Timothy Holmes. Here’s his address. Before the end of the month please. I need to keep him permanently from fulfilling a certain engagement…”

     “What engagement?”

     “Doesn’t matter.” Gerard winces at this.

     They smooth out the details of getting the money to him. When he leaves Gerard sits down with a sigh. “He must know that without a reason getting rid of this guy is going to weigh heavily on my conscience.”

     “We shouldn’t pick and choose our laws,” I find myself saying.

     His head flies up, “Fuck, what? Of course we can. We can choose that the law against dealing isn’t as important as the law against fucking rape!”

     I freeze and stiffen completely. My throat tightens and I can feel my vision begin to darken at the edges.

     “Fuck Frank,” Gerard jumps up and catches me before I collapse, “I’m so sorry… what did I say… I’m so sorry,” he repeats himself and pulls me over to the couch.

     I try force myself to be okay but it’s just so hard. All I can hear is _we shouldn’t pick and choose our laws_ on repeat.

     When I regain myself again, after an embarrassingly long time, I’m lying half on Gerard as he murmurs; “you’re alright now,” as he rocks me side to side.

     I spring up. “Fuck, sorry… fuck.”

     “It’s okay. I had no idea how fucking bad you’re fucked up man,” Gerard looks so concerned. _You don’t know me!_ I want to scream.

     “You barely know me at all,” I whimper. Not as manly as my planned statement.

     He purses his lips, “Yea.”

     The silence that followed was awkward and prolonged. After a while Gerard speaks. “I need your help.”

     “Anything,” what kind of a fucking answer did I just give…

     “Uh, okay, we’re trying to move in on Venom territory, right? They own too much of the south side. Do you by any chance know some weak spots, somewhere people would be quicker to take a cheaper deal, or a stronger drug?”

     I scratch the back of my head. I don’t know if I should tell the truth or not. Of course I know, though, I ran the books. I know more about where the best income comes from than Stan or the Boss ever did without me telling them.

     “Yea have you got a map?” I find myself saying. Gerard jumps up and fetches one immediately. We splay the detailed map of south side New Jersey on the coffee table. “These people,” I say tapping two blocks that I know to be all housing, “are cheaper than these,” I point to another block. “But they would be quality conscious as fuck. These would be your best bets. You could give the cheaper ones worse quality, ratio of like one part cocaine to twelve part talcum powder and they’d still sniff it up if they thought it was cheaper.”

     Gerard nods slowly. “You seem to have good insight,” he says.

     “Yea I grew up there,” I say looking at the odd rectangle where I shared the first fourteen years of my life with my mom. “I’d see it often. Kids smoking pre-rolled joints that are almost all tobacco.”

     Gerard nods again, “And what about the quality conscious ones?”

     “Put the price up maybe five dollars a unit even if the quality is only a little stronger.”

      “But if we deal in those two places we are very much surrounded by Venom.”

     “Yes but they don’t actually deal here and here, they just sell to people from there but in different places. This car park mainly,” I tap the page, “You could sell to both blocks from here, assuming this is yours already, and they won’t realise you’ve even moved in on their land.”

     “You know what Frank,” he smiles, “I knew we needed someone like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thank you for reading and also thank you sfm for all the comments! I'm here smiling at my screen everytime i go to update :)))) More is on the way! Probably same time tomorrow if i can


	6. You wanna follow something

It’s been two weeks since I first moved in. At first they just had me doing very low grade things, dealing, and delivery and picking up groceries for everyone in the target. I know everyone in the gang now; two girls and twenty two guys. I share the main flat with Gerard and sometimes Mikey. When Mikey stays he stays in his room so I sleep on the couch which is an embarrassingly good size for my shortness.

     I’ve managed to photograph six people and send the pics to Stan. It would be easy to photograph Gerard and Mikey but they don’t do street work so it would be very strange if we started targeting them now.

     Especially because they don’t look at all gangstery. Mikey is about my age but he was a senior last year, most gangsters don’t finish school but he did and he has another job as well, he works in hot topic. He wears glasses, beanies, band shirts and drinks coffee by the gallon. You would not think he’s one of the biggest fucking gangsters in the state. Gerard too. The guy wears eyeliner and baggy black hoodies with skinny jeans. He looks like the guy on all the drugs, not distributing them. No wonder we never guessed him. Probably never would have.

     I met Ryan again. Our conversation was short. “How’re you doing?” “Okay.” “Found out much,” “Loads,” “Like?” “They think I’m five different people” “what the fuck really” “Yep. They have a lot of photos and their territory is so much bigger than ours. Also they have this good way of making money off loans, ask Stan I told him,” “Okay,” “I better go” “Same here, take care of yourself Frankie”.

     My inside knowledge of Venom helps me jump ranks in MG and within the two weeks I’m literally just underneath Mikey. No one says who ranks where, it’s something you just know. And I know that my fucking fast ascent is bothering the people I’ve jumped.

     “Frank go to Ray’s for me will you?” Gerard says walking into my room at about ten am. I’m dressing and double over completely, trying to hide the fact I’m naked but for underwear. Gerard’s eyes fall down on me and he walks back out, not really feeling bad for intruding more trying to not stare. My skin pricks up. The way his eyes fell on me and grew larger remains imprinted on my brain.

     I arrive at Ray’s and pick up the “special doughnut delivery”. “How’s it going Frank?” He smiles as I dip in behind to the ovens.

     “Pretty fucking awesome Toro,” I say, picking up the large box full of meth. I hand him the money as we chat pleasantly about flour prices now that a customer has entered. 

     When I get back to the apartment Gerard is pacing about rapidly, shouting down the phone. “I don’t give a fuck! No- No- No you shut the fuck up this is not o-fucking-kay. No. I’m fucking doing something tonight. No fuck it. I don’t care we’re “seven up”! Fuck that this is too far. No- No- fuck you!” Gerard cancels the call and throws his phone out the window. He runs his fingers through his hair, continuing in his ferocious pace. I put the box of meth down.

    “What happened?” I gasp. I’ve never seen anyone this distressed.

    “Venom! No this is not okay,” he groans, kicking over a chair. “Not okay… so not okay.”

     “What happened!?” I say stopping Gerard with a hand on his chest.

     He stares down at me and I see total horror in his eyes. _Oh god what_ a voice inside me pleads. “Shanty… they fucking raped shanty…” he rubs his face violently with his hands. “I can’t believe this. This is too fucking low.” _We shouldn’t pick and choose our laws._ I shudder. “We can’t let them get away with this, FUCK!”

     I grab his arm and pull him down to the couch. He begins shaking. I have no idea how to comfort him. “Er… how do you even know it was Venom?”

     His head shoots up, “They cut it into the skin above her chest!” he wails. My head turns and twists up to look at the picture on the wall behind us, the picture of Chantel where they cut into her, letting us know that they know us. Gerard sees where my eyes went, “No this is different, _we_ didn’t _rape_ her or leave her _passed out down an alley overnight._ ”

     Oh. “Who?” I growled.

     He shakes his head, “oh god I don’t know. I just don’t know. We have to ask her oh _god_.”

     I bight my lip and wrap my arm around him. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I think I should stop. Before I could pull my arm back Gerard is leaning right into me and shaking violently. “She’s only sixteen,” he mumbles, digging his head into my shoulder. I thought she was older, she looks older. Whoever the fuck it was… “Frank, you haven’t said it outright but I see it… I see how scarred you are. I don’t want this for poor Shanty too. I told her this was dangerous. All of this is dangerous… She’s too fucking young and… I’m going to fucking kill them.”

     I stiffen and Gerard notices, “What?” he says. Looking up at me. It feels weird seeing him like this… Really weird… It feels like I want him to look at me like that forever.

     “Murder..?” I croak. I know it wouldn’t have been Ryan or Ronnie but murder just isn’t cool. Like any of the guys… even Stan.

      “Fuck it you’re right. We knocked off their last leader, another murder and I don’t think they’ll go without taking care of more of us…” He sighs and snuggles back into my shoulder, his tremors calming slightly. We remain there interlinked for a while. This is weird.

     About half an hour later the door opens. Gerard flies up and runs over to the door as it opens. Guy helps Shanty in. Her face is tear stained and her dress is torn. Her hair is a mess. “Who was it? We’ll get them back just who was it?” Gerard demands in a strangely soft way. Shanty bursts into tears. “Just point to the one okay?” Gerard says and jerks his head in the direction of the photo wall. Guy walks her over to the wall. Oh my god she is so covered in blood. And the big, jerky red cuts where the word Venom is across her chest…

     Shanty looks up at the wall, scans the photos and points to one. “Him,” her voice trembles as she marks out her rapist, the boss of Venom.

 

Guy goes back to work leaving shanty to take a warm bath in Gerard’s apartment as Gerard and I plan things. This is literally how high he has raised me; I don’t have to mix anything, I don’t have to deal. I just plan shit.

     “Okay so this is his car,” Gerard says, sliding me a picture. But this is literally all we know. I knew where he lived but then he shot Mikey in the foot so I set his apartment on fire…”

     “He shot Mikey?” I gasp. That was never brought up… Ever.

     “Yea. I thought it was because he knew who Mikey was. That’s why I started showing them that we knew who they were. Turns out they didn’t and still don’t know Mikey, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyway that guy is a total asshole. He needs to be taken down.” It occurs to me as Gerard speaks that he doesn’t actually realise Stan is boss.

     “Any idea who is the boss now?” I say casually, looking at the pic of Stan’s car.

     Gerard shakes his head, “I wish I did. Fucking bastards.”

     “So what will we do?” I say.

     “Vandalise his car? Set fire to his girlfriend? Probably doesn’t have one ugly little asshole. We’ll get them. All of them. This is too far, she’s only sixteen.” The young age presses in my mind. I can feel my heart beat and the edge of my vision threatens to engulf my sight in a black veil. But no, I push it back. It’s not fair for me to freak out, not now. This isn’t about me. Venom just don’t care about age. If they can do it they will. The boss didn’t care I was only fourteen. Or when I was only fifteen. Or sixteen or seventeen or eighteen or nineteen…

     I’ve never felt such a sway in my loyalty.

 

I sneak around to the lane where the car is parked. A brand new BMW. Even in the darkness and shadiness of the alley you can see it shine. Like a thing of beauty, showing off the suspicious wealth of a guy who still dresses like a hobo. Stan is really taking liberties as a leader, never paying anyone else anymore yet somehow buying a brand new car.

     I take out the knife and yellow spray paint from my belt. My breath is rapid and I can hear my heart and feel it pulsing all over me. I never had to do this kind of shit before but “I’m the only one they definitely don’t know.”

     I walk quickly up to the car. I bend over at the back tire and slash it open. It hisses like a snake. I then dig the knife into the metal above the tire. The scraping is atrocious as I drag the knife through the shiny metal toward the front. I pull it out giving my ears a beautiful silence. Checking over my shoulder, I slash the front tyre. No one around. I know they won’t be, Stan never leaves this club before two am anyway. Caution, caution so much caution it borders paranoia.  I shake myself and then the can and then begin spraying _VENOM_ on the windshield. I slash the other two _tyres_ quickly. I then Spray _VENOM_ all over the walls either side of the car. I stand on the bonnet to reach higher than I normally could so its not obviously the tiny me. I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst part. I shove the knife in my belt and take out the gun. _BANG SHATTER BANG SHATTER BANG SHATTER BANG SHATTER._ I turn away and run as fast down the lane as I can until I’m safely back in MG territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're eating through the plot now :) i feel really weird writing divided loyalties... what do you guys think, is Gerard a hypocrite or does he see borders where venom have decided the shouldn't pick and choose their laws? I don't know what I even think to tell the truth xD thanks for reading!


	7. You'll never make me leave

For the first time, I dream but I don’t dream about the boss. Just because my terror wasn’t about being forced into horrors doesn’t mean it wasn’t a nightmare. This time I fucking dreamt about forcing myself on another.

     It was me that fucking raped Shanty in my dream. She was standing in that horrible room back at Venom. I shoved her to the floor as she wailed for me to “let her go”, like the boss did, I ignored every plee. I don’t think she was naked but it makes no sense that she was dressed. I pulled her back by the hair and then by the neck, making her choke as I drove into her. The sound of her struggle a sweet melody I adopted as my rhythm. After a while I pulled her up onto me and I found myself saying those horrible words, “Sing to me. Sing to me Frank.” She pleaded to me, telling me she can’t. I choked her as I held her on me making her gag and punch fruitlessly at my thighs.

     When I dart awake it is about five in the morning. My cheeks are tear stained and my throat hurts. I just hope that if I was crying I wasn’t loud enough to wake Gerard. I really hope Gerard didn’t hear me cry as he doubtless he has before. I’m getting sick of seeming so weak in front of him.

     I’m tired but force myself out of bed. It’s not about me not being able to sleep, more about being afraid. I’m afraid to close my eyes and relive old horrors or create new. Maybe if I never sleep, I never have to face those horrors and I can just die from exhaustion.

     I shake myself and run my hands over my face and through my hair. It’s getting long, I might get it cut soon but Gerard says he likes it long.

     I walk into the main room in a pair of sweat pants. An orange glow lights the room from outside. The soft glow guides my way to the fridge. The sound of it swinging open disguised the sound of Gerard’s bedroom door opening behind me. When I turn around the sight of Gerard, pale and ghostly is enough to make me jump and drop my can of soda. It fizzes as it spurts out of the holes and I gasp audibly above it. “Fuck Gerard,” I breathe, and swing the fridge closed behind me. “I didn’t hear you fucking move.”

     The orange light exaggerates the soft plains of his skin and the dark dents. He’s only in his fucking boxers. “Are you okay?” he asks looking at me from under his bangs. His hair has grown longer and I like it better this way too, even with his inch long roots.

     “Yea,” I bend over to pick up the fallen can, “couldn’t sleep.”

     “I think that is a lie,” he muses.

     “I think that you’re wrong,” I hum.

     “I think that I know you better than you think.”

     “I think you fucking don’t.”

     “I think that you’re gorgeous.”

     “I think… wait what,” I choke out stunned.

     “What?” he says innocently.

     I stare at him, words forming in my throat but dying on the way out of my mouth in various whines. “What did you just say?” I finally manage.

     “I didn’t say anything.”

     “Yes you did!”

     “I did not.”

     “You did you said… “I think that you’re gorgeous.””

     “That’s very nice of you to say,” he grins. Fuck. My breath begins to quicken. I don’t like this, this not being in control. I just… “I’m sorry Frank,” he sighs, “It had to be said. I think I’ll go back to sleep now.”

     “No wait,” I find myself saying. Somehow he’s getting closer but he’s not moving. Somehow I’m reaching out for him without my mind even saying to. Somehow my lips find his.

     Somehow we kiss so passionately we land on the couch and somehow I wake up the next day lying on top of the leader of enemy gang.

 

Mikey new something was up when he came over at lunchtime with a report saying they finally managed to make that guy, Timothy Holmes, disappear. “He was fucking hard to get alone. Also the guys felt really bad, he has a kid. We also don’t know what he fucking did wrong!” his eyes fall on me. “You okay Frankie?” I nod blushing. “Okay… We managed to make it look like suicide but we know so little about him, people may think it’s out of the blue or some shit.”  
     Gerard nods, “Hanging?”

     Mikey gulps and adjusts his glasses. “Yea. I fucking hate this, Gerard. I fucking hate it.”

     Gerard looks empathically over at his brother. “Frank, go to 208 Meriton Avenue and look for Dave Peters on the bells. Say the word swordfish into it if he answers. Go up get the money and be back in time for casserole. Family dinner tonight.”

     I get a cab. I have no idea where Meriton Ave is. As we drive I’m horrified to see us enter Venom land. Fuck. I keep my head down as we wait at traffic lights. We pass the alley where I destroyed Stan’s car. We pass the place I used to get beaten up. The library and just before we come toward my first home the driver swings left into a slightly more well off area. The farther up the street we go the nicer the houses look until the driver pulls over and says “that’ll be thirteen thirty- four, exact change please.”

     208 is high and narrow with enough doorbells that makes me think that more people live here than on the island of Ireland. I read through the scrawled names until I catch a glimpse of “Peters”. I hold in the button. “Hello,” the voice comes crackled through the receiver.

     “Er, hi….” I say awkwardly, “sword fish…?” A loud beep answers me and I press in the door. It’s only a few flights of stairs to David Peters’ apartment.

     The door swings open just as I’m about to knock and a half dressed version of the man I saw almost a month ago stands before me. “So you from MG?” he slurs.

     “Uh... yea. It’s done,” I say awkwardly.

     “Did ya hear that darlin’!” he calls, swinging to the side and I can see a fully undressed woman sitting on the couch completely drunk. “You’re fucking fiancé’s dead!” he roars with laughter but the woman’s face falls. “I best get you you’re money!” He slams the door in my face.

     Through the thin walls and door I hear the woman wail as the man tells her to “shut it” and some more vulgar things.

     When the door opens the man hands me out a stack of money while the woman, naked next to him wails, “HOW COULD YOU” over and over while punching at and slapping his leg.

     I walk away quickly as the door shuts. I think MG has just done a really, really bad thing. Maybe we shouldn’t pick and choose our laws but morals is a whole new level. I run down the stairs and into the street.

                                                                                                                       

With my eyes trained on the ground, I leave Venom land as quickly as possible, this territory was once my home and haven now threatens my life. At one point, while taking an alley way short cut, I run. Properly run through the broad daylight as if I’ve committed a crime. In the past forty eight hours I’ve done nothing illegal but I’ve never felt so guilty. I don’t even want to tell Gerard or Mikey, they felt bad enough.

     The lights at the crossing go green and I’m about to step out when a fire truck speeds past me, sirens blaring. I wonder what’s on fire at three pm.

     After several blocks my question is answered. The smell of smoke hits me long before the sight of it does. A large ark has now gathered, incircling the small burning building. Most of the fire men are trying to put out the fire while three or four try disperse the crowd. “Fuck,” I spit and begin running again.

     “Don’t come any closer,” a fireman says, putting his hand on my chest.

     “It’s fine,” Ray says, “He’s a friend of mine.” The gloved hand rises and I walk the final few steps toward Ray. His hair is wilder than ever and his face wears a frown, something that seems so alien on his face.

     “What happened?” I gasp, looking up at his burning livelihood.

     “Venom,” his voice trails. I look directly up and I can see it. On every window, even though most are shattered, you can see the word in yellow spray paint. Stan must be actually going insane, this is all too far. Ray isn’t part of MG, Ray is just a big haired baker.

     “Aw dude I’m so sorry,” I say, looking up at Ray.

     He lets out a shaky sigh, “It’s okay,” he lies, “Tell Gerard it was lovely to do business with him but I’m afraid I can’t anymore,” his voice breaks half way through the sentence and the last five words are barely intelligible.

     I try for a moment to comfort Ray. After a while he plainly says he’d like to be alone. I can’t take offence in this, he’s a broken man. I jog off again, leaving the last few flames to lick at Ray’s life. When I’m almost at the corner I hear a massive explosion and see shards of glass fly out at the firemen and Ray. I would run back the see if he was hurt but he’s still standing so I assume so. When I’m a block away, I hear a large rumbling. That, I assume, is the fucking building falling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this chapter wasn't even in my plan*  
> Hi guys! So I wasn't even sure I would be finished today i've had so much on (got home late, homework, had to bake, practice guitar, shower, eat dinner...) but I did. I especially didn't see myself writing this chapter but i think it will be key in the run up to the following events so keep an eye out!  
> Thanks for reading and if i can i shall update tomorrow! :))


	8. Black is the kiss, the touch of the serpent son

Gerard broke down when he got the call about Ray. It happened to seconds after I stepped in the front door. I’ve heard it said that he’s too soft for the business. That he gets too attached in a business where you can’t guarantee you’ll see twenty five. But no one would say this to Gerard, he may not have wrought iron emotions but he is cunning and he commands a loyal and trusting following.

     Gerard sinks to his knees in the no man’s land between the kitchen and sitting room areas. For a while he just kneels there, as if in prayer, hands clasped to his chest. I move forward and say, “Ray is…” and he bursts into tears, hands flying up to block his ears, to stop the bad news. He shakes as he lowers himself to the floor. Mikey seems to have gone home.

    Gerard coughs trying to catch his breath as sobs rip through. He has the emotional stability of a young child. His phone rings, instead of answering it he slides it to me and continues to shake. His sobs now inaudible with ferocity.

     “Hello?” I say into the phone.

     “Frank?” the voice replies.

     “Yea?”

     “What’s wrong with Gerard?” the voice I think belongs to a guy called Shaggy, named after his resemblance to the character from Scooby do.

     “He’s, er, not here right now. What is it?”

     He makes a weird grunting noise, “who made you second in command?” he asks indignantly.

     “No one… i…. what is it?”

     “Toro the baker is alive and in a critical condition. His house fucking blew up. Tell boss, I’m gone to see if I can’t get my hands on that J. Vincent, the guy we think does their heroine and see if I can’t blow up him,” he hangs up angrily. Fuuuuck. Jacky did supply us with heroin for a few years but he moved across country recently, only his ex and kids are there.

     I don’t think Shaggy would kill kids.

     I put the phone on the ground and go to sit next to Gerard. “Hey, Ray is alive,” I say soft as I can. “Just in hospital but they’re gonna make him good and healthy again okay?”

     He flies up straight and stares at me, eyeliner running down his smooth cheeks and pooling at his chin. “They’re just such dirty players,” he gushes and lies his head against my chest. “Only this is one game where they can’t be sent off, or showed a card, or suspended. They can only be fought dirty. They can only be sent off, permanently!” he says, shaking in rage.

     “Yea, it’s not fair.” I coo. I could fucking kill Stan myself. He just likes to collect blood on his hands.

 

I’m lying in bed. I’m not asleep but I haven’t got much of a chance to try nod off. My mind is racing. The bakery in flames, the guy who just hired us to kill some girl’s fiancé. The fact that we literally just killed a guy for being engaged to some girl. The fact that I keep referring to MG as “we”.

     “They” would be more fitting. Why the fuck do I get so sucked into working with them. It’s been a month. A month and I have only seen Ryan twice and Ronnie never.

    My door opens. The light that creeps over my bed and into my eyes is blinding in comparison to the dark I was about to sleep to. “What,” I croak.

    A black silhouette casts a shadow, the only respite from the light. The shadow moves forward and closes the door behind him. When my eyes adjust again I see Gerard slinking against the door.

     I sit up straight looking down at my new boss. “Um… Gerard…”

     His eyes lift to mine. He’s pupils are huge, even though it’s dark. “Ray made great meth,” he says, walking on his knees towards my bed. “But I always preferred pills, and booze,” he flops into my bed. “And the amount of pills I’ve taken, counteracts the booze I’m drinking.” He grins a bit, waving the bottle of Smirnoff in front of my face.

     I take it off him and put it on the windowsill above my bed. “Don’t take it unless you’re going to drink it,” he says matter-of-factly.

     “Gerard…” I say looking down on him.

     “Drink it or would you prefer one of these,” he grins and reveals a tub of pills. I grab them off him.

     “Gerard, stop it,” I say, putting them up too.

     He sighs and rests his head on top of my bed, “I’m bad at this Frankie.”

     “Bad at what?” I ask, bending down to rub his back.

     “I’m bad at this, but I think you’re making me better,” he purrs, “you must be making me better because I was worse. Then there was you. And now I’m still very very bad but I am better.”

      “Gerard… what?” He shoots up and launches himself at me. He lies, fully covering me, and kissing the general area around my mouth. I begin to panic and my eyesight threatens to go truly black. _No_ I think _No you were doing so well. You were going so well._ I push back at my memories and at the black in the side of vision. _He’s my boss but he’s not the boss_ I chant to myself.

     Gerard finally notices my shaking and sits up, straddling me but letting me see and breathe freely, “I’m sorry. Fuck I’m so sorry. I forgot…” he tips over and is about to fall off me, off my bed, onto the ground.

     “Gerard!” I half gasp, half groan as I grab his arm and yank him upright. He falls on top of me again, only this time his head’s on my chest and our legs are intertwined together with the blankets.

    After a while I think Gerard has fallen asleep. His breath is easy and in time with the rising and falling of my chest. I can’t sleep now, not with Gerard lying on me like this. I reach behind me and grab the vodka. It’s almost full which means Gerard must have drank at least a full one to himself. I tip it up and drain it. Something I’ve been practising since I was fourteen, when Venom drank, you drank as much as you could on your turn because chances are it won’t come around again.

     I put the empty bottle back up and feel it move through me and work its magic on my brain. After about ten minutes my brain feels like a ball of cotton wool. I suddenly become a lot more aware of the guy sleeping on me, and where his hands are. One is on my chest, under his head. The other is lower, resting on the top of my briefs.

     I feel so conscious of how my body feels under him. I feel everything. I want to sleep now to get rid of this feeling. But I can’t sleep can I, not when I feel myself so hard against Gerard’s stomach.

    I lie their awkwardly, looking through vodka fuzzed eyes at a crack in the ceiling.

    After a few minutes Gerard jolts awake and flings himself to the ground. In a weird panic he crawls to the bedroom door. “What!?” I slur after him.

     “I… I need to… I need to,” he falls over and lies in front of my door.

     “What the fuck Gerard?!” I exclaim, pushing the bed sheets of my lower legs and stumbling down next to him. I lie on my stomach next to him. He bursts out laughing and I join him. “I like like you,” he whispers amongst his giggles.

     “I like like you too,” I giggle-whisper back.

     “Do you?!” he says, rather shocked. I nod as much as I can considering I’m on the floor and the door is just beside me.

     He giggles and pushes himself into a wavering seated position. I can’t focus in on him very well. I sit up to, propped against the door. He crawls over to me, looking up flirtatiously from under his bangs. “Want to do something fun.”

     “I don’t really know how,” I slur. He sits beside me and leans his head on my shoulder.

     “You have before though, right?”

     “Never voluntarily.” He stiffens and swings himself around so that his head is on my lap and he’s staring up at me.

     “Never?” he mumbles, “Like never ever? You were always forced?” I nod and he winces.

     I stare down at his wide eyes and he stares back up at me. He starts mumbling, “I’m sorry,” over and over.

     “It’s fine!” I say and Gerard rolls over so he is face down on my lap. I’m actually getting harder, this is scaring me slightly, but in an okay way.

     “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my legs and then shuffles around and pulls my briefs off.

     “Gerard-” my own breath silences me as Gerard takes me in his mouth. My mind threatens to flash pictures of when it was reversed but god bless vodka which makes them go away.

     It’s a wonder I’m not an alcoholic. Maybe it’s because I can’t really afford to be.

     Gerard moves his mouth over my length and runs his tongue over my head. I groan embarrassingly loudly. Gerard smiles over me and starts to go faster. I feel the well build up in me insanely. “I don’t- I won’t last”

      Gerard comes up to say, “you don’t have to,” and then returns with more speed than before. I can’t help but buck my hips and groan as I fill his mouth. He coughs a little and then comes back up. “Let’s sleep now,” he slurs.

     “What about your turn,” I slur, dazed.

     “What about it,” he grins and stumbles into my bed. I pull up my briefs half way and stumble after him.

 

We wake up intertwined and cold. I only wake because Gerard is shivering. His eyes are bloodshot when they fly open. “Oh fuck.. what… I didn’t, did I. Fuck I’m sorry,” and he begins the apologising again.

     “Stop apologising. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. His “sorry”s were only making my head hurt more. He nods and heaves himself from the bed. I fall back on my pillow as he leaves my room. He’s naked but I don’t think he realises this. I look down and I am too. Time to sleep off a little more of this headache.

 

“I have a job for three of you,” Gerard says to Mikey, Guy and me. It’s six o clock. “I think that this guy is the new leader and we need him gone. He’d be the one who set fire to Ray’s as well as rape Shanty so can he be gone by midnight?”

     I stare at the photo of Stan. He’s so unphotogenic it’s almost funny. I have no problem with ridding the world of Stan but he never travels alone. “He’s literally never alone,” Guy says, backing up my thought. I never new it but Guy is the Venom stalker. He just follows them around, literally. And what’s most disturbing is they never notice.

     I nod. “Yea that’s why I’m sending three of you,” Gerard says. “Where will he be tonight Guy?”

     “Uh he’ll be going to that fucking bar at about ten,” Guy replies, correctly.

     “Great, I’ll get some guns yea?” Gerard smiles.

     We’re in position early. We hide in the shadows till the car pulls up. Two guys hop out of the brand new car. I can’t tell who they are but next thing I know Guy strolls out of the shadows, gun pointed, “Stand still.”

     The two guys jump and reach for their weapons. Me and Mikey walk out behind him, guns posed.

     “Frank?” A voice says, oh god it’s not Stan’s.

     The next three seconds fly. Guy fires the first shot and then suddenly theres bullets everywhere. Mikey grunts as a bullet hits him somewhere and a guy in front of me falls. My voice makes a choked sound as the other one runs from the alley into the daylight. “Lets go!” Guy shouts and him and Mikey take off into the alley.

     I can’t run. I can’t even breathe. I collapse to the wet, filthy ground. I’m not shot and I never fired a shot but someone is dead and it’s not fucking stan.

     I crawl forward and sit by the body of my oldest friend. I check his pulse and his breath. “Oh Fuck This!” I scream and pull Ryan’s head onto my lap. Blood flows from his chest at the same speed the heat leaves his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
> I'm so so sorry.


	9. Love is the red, the rose on your coffin door

“What’s wrong!?” Gerard exclaims when he sees me limp into the flat at two am. I waited at Ryan’s body till Ronnie and the ambulance arrived. I texted Ronnie off Ryan’s phone and called the ambulance. Then I walked slowly home through the shadows. I took alleys all the way. I couldn’t face the light less it literally laminated the blood on my hands. The blood of my only real friend in the world. At one time I broke down, the tears blinding me and causing me to walk into a brick wall. I’d slid down the wall, scraping my face against the course brick and landing in a heap at the base. I must have sat crying for about an hour.

     I stare at him for a minute before walking to my room, silent. “What happened?!” He demands again from behind me. “Why didn’t you come home with Guy and Mikey?” I pause at my door, leaning my head against the chipboard.

     “I got lost,” I mumble.

     “The fuck you did!” I open the door and walk in, “Jesus Christ answer me Frank! I’d thought you were dead!” The last word is muffled by the slamming of my bedroom door.

     I sit on my bed in the dark. Maybe if I take all the pills that Gerard had brought in to my room, and still reside on my window sill, I’d die. I pick them up and examine them in the feint glow of the city coming through my window. I put them up to my mouth. _No_ , I think, _no point in dying now._ I open my window and toss them at the roof of the neighbouring building. No temptation.

     I own two phones. A good one I got from MG to contact everyone here, and an old nokia to contact Venom, well Stan. I take the Venom one out and consider throwing It out the window like the pills. It is a nokia though, so it will probably be fine if I did. Maybe I could set it on fire.

     The screen lights up with a text from Stan. “It’s time”.

     Venom is feeling the loss of Ryan so badly that apparently it’s time for me to kill Gerard. I sit on my bed, paralysed. I guess I’m just not that into murder.

     I go to throw my nokia out the window after all when it lights up again. “There is a vile of venom in the wall where Ryan was shot. I know you know where. Forty Eight Hours.” I throw open the window and with a fierce growl I fling it at the wall.

     I begin to cry for the third time today. I think at some point I pass out because when I open my eyes I’m on my bed, fully clothed and tears stained dry on my cheeks. I’m nearly brought to tears again when I see that my hands are stained in blood. I leap from the bed and run for the bathroom.

     “Frank?” Gerard calls as soon as I appear in the main room, but I ignore him and go straight into the bathroom. I can hear his questioning protest to my “being a rude asshole” but I don’t reply. Instead I run the water and watch as the red swirls down, diluted but still so obviously blood. When I look up into the mirror my face is covered in blood and trails caused by tears interrupting some of the patches. This blood, I think, may be my own. My forehead and nose are skint raw. Some of the blood must be Ryan’s from when I leaned in to check his breath, or maybe when I clutched my face screamed.

     The water stings the cuts and when I look back up it looks like my skin is melting off. I wash away as much as I can, letting the red water be caught up in the current that will bring it down below. I stain a yellow towel with the remainder. I can’t believe I slept in so much blood.

     Gerard is pacing the main room shouting down the phone when I finally leave the bathroom. “Fuck it! He could have died! You DON’T just leave people Guy!! … No, you shut up, I’ll talk to my brother! ... You don’t know that! … Right, fuck off I need to talk to him. No, no shut the fuck up you didn’t even get the right one!” He jerks the phone down from his ear and flings it onto the couch. “Fuck!” he exclaims in a final exasperated bellow.

     “Uh,” I begin, but what to say.

     “You scared me shitless!” he shouts. “You can’t disappear after a gun fight like that! And then come home at like two am covered in blood and limping! What the fuck Frank!” He starts pacing again, “What kept you?!”

    “I got lost,” I mumble looking at the ground.

     “Bullshit, you know the city! And why were you so covered in blood, why was your face so covered in blood?! Did you fucking make out with the corpse? Is, what is it, necrophilia? On your list of problems? This another thing that you keep from me!”

     I stare, speechless.

     “Ew Frank please say it’s not _that_!”You fucking scared me half to death,” he puts his hands over his face and flung himself to the couch, “fuck it Frank, you could have been dead.”

     I stand awkwardly beside him. “I’m need to get out of here,” I say after a while and run for the door, ignoring Gerard’s calls and noises of frustration I push my way down the hall and out into the soft rain.

 

The vile of poison is in the wall where a brick has been broken, by a bullet. I slip it into my coat pocket and walk back to the flat. The rain is running the remaining blood down to the drain and I dodge precariously around it in attempt to get away.

     I walk swiftly through the rain on my own. Just before I leave Venom territory into the short two blocks we call “no man’s land” because there are no dealers on the block, I get dragged backwards and turned around.

     “Frank!” Ronnie squeaks uncharacteristically high pitched, “They say you were there when they shot Ryan.” It’s broad daylight and in the middle of the day, what’s he thinking.

     Then I look at his eyes and I realise he’s not. “What are you on,” I murmur, jerking out of his grip, “and yes I was but I didn’t shoot. I’d never shoot Ryan. He was my best friend.” My voice catches a little.

     “Yea, well now your only fucking friend is fucking dead,” he says and turns away, running into the crowd. I know he didn’t mean it, he’s high and sad but still his words cut deep. Ryan was my closest friend and now if I do my job and return to Venom I’ll have no one. Unless Ronnie comes around. I lightly touch the vile in my pocket and continue my walk back to the flat.

     Every step sends me further into apprehension that by the time I open the door and see Gerard’s face from the couch, I’m totally unsure. Maybe I can poison another and say it’s Gerard or…

     “Frank are you okay?” he looks really worried. “Seriously what’s going on with you, I’ve been worried sick!”

      “Fuck it Gerard!” I shout. My vision is black at the edges, _not this again fuck_ ,I shove my hand in my pocket. “Fuck it I can’t!” I shout when I feel the little cool glass vile in my pocket. I’m not thinking at all. I pick it up and fling it at the wall, hitting the picture of Stan. Gerard jumps up and looks confused, switching his glance from me to the liquid that’s sizzling on the wall.

     It’s some point after he says my name that I black out.

 

I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to come to my senses and have to justify that moment of madness. I don’t want to have to open my eyes and tell Gerard I was almost going to close his forever.

     Unfortunately I do wake, lying in the middle of the floor with Gerard standing at the window. “You were going to kill me,” he states when he sees my eyes open. “You were going to fucking kill me?!”

     I sit up straight, I can see hurt in his eyes. It’s from the fact that we broke his precious fucking trust. I stare at him unsure what I could even say. “You’re part of fucking Venom. That’s how you knew _everything._ I can’t believe I didn’t realise,” he looks so angry, “I let you live in my own home! I let you sleep in my brother’s bed! Worse I let myself like you,” his voice is bordering hysteria now, “I let myself care for you and think “Well no matter how short and dangerous this life may be and least I don’t have to die alone” well now I think I’d like to die alone! Get the fuck out of here right now! I’ll have to tell the guys you were shot or poisoned or something. Fuck it. Fuck you. Get out.”

     I stumble to the door and push my way down to stairs. I run all the way toward the apartment of my nightmares as my eyes well up with even more fucking tears.

 

“What do you mean it failed!” Stan is shouting. The back of my head stings from where he threw me against the wall.

    “The vile broke and he saw,” I mumble.

     “No, no this is not one you can fail at. You either succeed or you die trying!” He screams, his face tomato in shade as he lands me a blow to the ribs. I curl up immediately in pain. “You’re useless as anything but a fucking prostitute Frank! So that’s what you can be,” I freeze up, “go find yourself a nice brothel. You can live there and get the fuck out of my sight because I swear to god you have put is in more fucking danger than saved us from. So you can get the fuck out.”

     I seize up in horror. “You heard me! Get out! The next time I hear from you better be your funeral notice because after this I never, ever want to see you again.”

     And that folks is the story of how I became homeless.

     I slowly stand up, wobbling in pain. Past the judgmental eyes  of Chubs, Gavin and Jay, I stumble out of the apartment and into the October streets.

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yea. I'm sorry if this seems odd or anything. I find writing hysteria like Gerard's or nervousness and grief like Frank's really difficult without making them not seem like them, if you follow.  
> Another chapter is on the way


	10. I'm not much a poet, but a criminal

 

I like to believe there are five general types of people in the world. Good people who do bad things. Bad people who do good things. Good people who do good things and bad people who do bad things. And then there’s bad people who are convinced they’re doing good things. I hope I fit into one of the first to categories.

     I think just because you do one bad thing makes you a bad person. In fact doing one bad thing, if you are a good person, makes you want to do more good things to counter act it.

     I was sitting in an alley when Ray saw me a month ago. I was just getting used to being homeless. Three days on the streets of “no man’s land”. He asked me if I’m living on the streets again, I said yes. He didn’t ask why or what happened to the whole being in a gang, just offered me a place to live, over the river in New York with him and his roommate. “You can get a job and pay rent as soon as you do, yea?”

     Of course I fucking jumped at the idea of somewhere warmer. Ray’s roommate is a used car salesman from New York, Bob Bryar. It is a fucking small world.

     So that’s how I end up in another Walmart. Till work, as if I needed more reminding of my past. I’m nearly twenty years of age and have had to completely delete my past from everyone except myself.

     “Your total is thirteen fifty five,” I say in a drab voice. The guy’s eyes are wild and his entire bag full of food consists of Oreos. Thirteen fifty five dollars spent on Oreos, the guy is definitely high.

     He fumbles around and hands me twenty dollars before stumbling out the door. Next to the till is Ray, after shopping for our dinner tonight. “Quiche for later?” he chirps happily.

     “Yea sure,” I’ve been eating a million times better thanks to Ray.

     “Also, I was talking to Gerard earlier,” I freeze midscan. “He told me they’re moving across the road. Over here.” I stare down at the Nutella jar I have yet to scan. “I’m just letting you know.”

     I nod, forcing myself to scan the remaining items. “That’s forty two thirty,” I mumble.

     Quiche is delicious that night. Bob goes out to his brother’s and Ray goes off somewhere too. I really hate being alone. Sometimes when my brain realises it’s alone it begins to tell me the Boss or Stan is around, just watching. Sometimes, worse still, I see Gerard. Just sitting near me, or smiling, or crying, or freaking out.

     I sit on the old couch and flick through the channels. I find a zombie movie and sit stiffly as I watch the gore. I hate the way I see his face everywhere. I have no fucking idea what’s real anymore.

     That’s why when I hear the doorbell ring I hesitate, not sure if it’s actually ringing. When I finally decide its probably real I’m so shaky and nervous I think that I may throw up on whoever is outside. I look out through the peephole and see Gerard.

      I fall against the door murmuring, _it’s not him, it couldn’t be him._ I’m almost in tears by the time I pluck up the courage to look out again. It’s not Gerard.

     “Hello, Mr. Toro?” the delivery guy asks when I answer the door.

     “Uh no,” I choke, “he’s not here at the moment…”

     “Ah,” he looks crestfallen, “this is his address though, right.” I nod. “Do you live here…” I nod, “Will you sign for him?”

     I sign the delivery forms and take in the big FRAGILE box. I don’t know where I should put it. “You can just give it to me,” something behind me says, “I love it when you give it to me.” I freeze. “Don’t be rude Frank,” his voice purrs. Suddenly he’s in front of me. I drop the box on the armchair in front of me. It clinks but I don’t think it breaks.

      “Come on Frank,” the boss says grinning yellow teeth. I start to walk backwards shaking my head.

     “You’re not real. You’re dead! Fucking dead!” I choke out, still walking backwards.

     “I can still hurt you though,” he smiles. I’m pressed back up against the wall now.

     “You can’t you’re six feet under the ground miles away!” I punch full force into his jaw.

     He topples over and lands in a heap. He then begins sobbing. His head lifts and I see Gerard crying, tears smudging his eyeliner. “Why?” he says. “Why?” he says again, almost wailing. “I’m sorry,” I stutter, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I run from him on the ground and into my bedroom. I lock the door and shove a chair under it. I jump into my bed and wrap my blanket around me, rocking side to side close to suffocation, for about an hour before I either fall asleep or pass out.

 

“You need to get this checked out,” Ray says after he found me cowering in the bathroom murmuring “I’m so sorry” constantly this morning.

     Bob nods and grumbles, “Seriously Frank, this is fucking terrible.”

      “Yea, I know. I should get seen to, but with what and for what. I’ve only got five years to go anyway.” They stare at me, mouth open.

     “A fortune teller told me I’d be lucky to have a decade,” I say poking my pancake, “When I was fifteen.”

     “Frank, you can’t not get help because you believe you’ll be dead in five years!” Ray says incredulously. Bob nods in reinforcement. “That’s insane!”

     “Maybe,” I muse. “I’ve never been sane though,” I try to walk away then.

      “Frank.”

      “Ray.” I walk out the door. I like Ray and Bob, like I really do, but this kind of life is not what I’m made for. The whole average Joe job is killing me and I’ve got too many tattoos to be employed anywhere else. This stupid paranoia isn’t helping either. It would probably be much better to just leave Ray and Bob to live a good normal life, but then again I don’t want to sleep on the streets and starve, again.

     I don’t need to in work for four hours so I think I’ll see if I can walk to Central Park. In all my life I’ve never been.

     I stand at the cross roads as cars zoom past. Just as they begin to slow I see Shanty. I shake my head, still her. I rub my eyes, still her. I slap myself, still her. “Excuse me ma’am, is that girl over there wearing a purple jumper?” I ask a pregnant woman who just walked up next to me, waiting to cross. I try say it as calmly as I can manage.

     “The girl with the blonde hair?” she says in a thick New York accent. I nod. “Yea she is darling’.”

     The lights go green and she begins to cross the road. I start walking and I see Shanty’s eyebrows raise. “Frank?” She gasps. I keep walking, “Frank.” She says louder, turning in the middle of the road and jogging back after me. “Fuck, what? We all think your dead!”

     “I am dead, Shanty,” I say now safely across the road yet I feel in more danger than being in the centre of New York traffic. “I am dead to MG.”  
     “What? That doesn’t make sense…” she looks scared. “You know once you join something like MG you’re never safe again. You can’t leave, Frank.” Her voice is urgent and hushed but there’s all traces of how young she is.

     “I know. I was in another but my past caught up so…” I smile meekly and walk off as fast as I can without looking suspicious. I don’t look back but I can feel her watch me go.

     The park is packed with tourists, teenagers and people high off what I can tell to be mainly pills. I wonder how many have gotten them from one of my former gangs.

     One girl approaches me when I’m looking at a sculpture, “You with Venom,” she asks hushed. She’s thin with hollow cheeks and eye sockets. Like a girl who could be conventionally pretty but got way too into heroin.

     I shake my head, “But you’re friends with Ryan Seaman? I think I’ve seen you with him.”

     “Yea I was,” her words sting.

     “Do you know where he’s gone? I can’t find anyone else from Venom and I’m going crazy!” She smiles to soften it but her eyes are wild and her voice harsh.

     “He was shot,” my own words stab me. “Yea eh see if you can find this guy,” I show her a picture of Ronnie, “he was also a friend of Ryan’s.”

     She nods looking only a little bit shocked at Ryan’s death. I guess someone in a gang getting shot isn’t a big deal. A guy the government never knew existed, ceasing to exist.

     I walk out of the park quickly then and take the longer way to work, avoiding anywhere I think I could possibly find people from my past life. A dangerous past, one full of fucking death and hangovers, but a past I am nevertheless itching to get back to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to find this fic really hard to write :/   
> I had a definite ending at first but now I have two other ideas... One (the original) is possibly better but like impossible to execute. One idea is cheesy and the other is unlikely af but i don't know... Sorry cx ill try decide by the next chapter xD I'm running out of time :L
> 
> (Self promotion time... Sorry... Follow me on Twitter...? @so_im_a_nerd ... Tumblr& Instagram is @shethinksshesshakespeare ... I'll follow y'all back :)) )


	11. It ain't the mark or the scar that makes you run

_I’m risking my ass for you kid. Stan wants you dead. He thought you were till it was heard you found yourself a job. If Stan wants you dead either you kill him or you won’t see your birthday. He is also going to kill the leaders of MG. You tell them this, they’ll give you killing shit. I’ll get you safely alone. R._

Ronnie’s note had come extremely unexpectedly a day ago. I was putting the cash in the cash register when a note fell out from between two ten dollar notes. When I looked up the person was on their way out without change or receipt. I pocket the little folded post-it and his change as the next customer begins unloading their groceries. I have to wait till my cigarette break to read it.

     _I’m risking my ass for you kid. Stan wants you dead. He thought you were till it was heard you found yourself a job. If Stan wants you dead either you kill him or you won’t see your birthday. He is also going to kill the leaders of MG. You tell them this, they’ll give you killing shit. I’ll get you too safely alone. R._

     It was definitely from Ronnie, but whether or not it’s real is questionable. I fucking lived with Ronnie for years. Other than Ryan, it was in him I placed the most trust. Then he fucking dismissed me because I was there when Ryan died. He’s unpredictable and he can lie but still..

     This isn’t going to help whatever form of paranoia I have.

 

The next note comes in work the next day. It’s two days till my birthday and I want to fucking see what it’s like to not have “teen” at the end of my age. I get it rolled up inside a twenty dollar bill. _F, tomorrow at seven pm. Come up the back way. It’ll be just me and Stan. When you hear me leave go in. Don’t fuck up, I don’t want to lose my last friend at the hands of fucking Stan. R._

As soon as I’m finished my shift I begin walking toward Gerard’s. This _is insane_ I think repeatedly _this is fucking insane._ It’s fucking insane yet I find myself standing on the subway in rush hour on my way to Jersey to ask a guy I was supposed to kill for help to kill another.

     This is so fucked up.

     The subway makes its last stop before Jersey. Lots of people get off, even more get on. And now I’m pressed up against the door on the opposite side to the opening. My arms are fully stretched upwards to reach the bar that is keeping me from falling into the window. I stare through the glass at the pipes that fly by in the darkness. I think for a second I see Gerard staring, gaping. I shake my head, rubbing the back or my neck and head off the person pressed up against me. _It couldn’t be him and even if it was we’ve zoomed passed him_ I tell myself. The pipes continue. I think I see Gerard, falling to the floor, like the day when he found out about Ray’s bakery. The train hits a light bump. No one else seems to notice it but it sends me spiralling down to the floor. My vision blacks out for about forty seconds and I lie in a heap until somebody picks me up. My vision regained, I push through to the exit and begin my ascent into New Jersey.

     I immediately enter the shadows of the side streets and alleyways. As soon as I turn into a narrow lane hidden from the world I realise what a bad idea this is. I have no way to defend myself if someone decides to hassle me, and they often do because I’m fucking small. There isn’t even daylight on my side. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

     I come out the other side of the block, thankfully intact. Only a few miles more.

     I take the familiar streets and crossings and dip through the least dodgy alleys I can find until I find myself at the building door.

     I walk straight in. My heart pounds louder than my feet do as I run up the stairs, desperately hoping not to attract any of my former gang mates from their apartments. Most of them are probably out actually, its quarter to eight; prime dealing time.

     The closer I get to the top the more nervous I get. The churning of my stomach keeps me concentrated and I don’t let myself think about anything. I just see steps and the yellowing wall.

     And then there are no more steps. Then the yellowing wall seems to turn into green wood and brass. I knock the sequence and stand out of the way of maybe an immediate shot. The door swings open.

     “Hey- Frank? What the fuck?” Gerard looks completely startled. Mikey, sitting on the couch behind him stands up quickly with an expression like he’s just seen a ghost. I guess he believes he has.

     “I have a proposition. I am completely unarmed, you can check,” I say quickly.

     “Wouldn’t you love that,” he says, the amusement on his face leaves as quickly as it arrives. “What do you want?”

     “You’re supposed to be dead!” Mikey blurts, distressed. Gerard gestures me in with a wary sigh.

     “He didn’t get killed by Venom. He in fact works for Venom,” Gerard explains disturbingly casually.

     “Did. I quite frankly stopped working for Venom when they burned down Ray’s,” I retort.

     “Then why the fuck did you try to kill me,” he seethes.

     “I didn’t! I could have very easily but I broke the fucking vile!” I protest.

     Before Gerard can retaliate Mikey buts in, eyes narrowed, “You tried to kill Gerard?”

     “No! I was supposed to but I couldn’t, so everyone kicked me out and I was left on the streets, now are you gonna listen to what I have to say?” I growl, defensive. Seeing Gerard is making me remember what I thought I saw on the train. The face that has been frequenting my nightmares is now staring with a new level of hurt.

     He furrows his brow and begins pacing. “Yea, fuck it, what do you want?”

     “To kill Stan, current leader of Venom.” Gerard stops pacing and raises his eyebrows. Mikey looks confused and shocked. “Uh. He wants to kill me. But he also wants to kill you, Gerard, and he will. He is very capable. I have no weapons though so I thought you could give me a gun and I’d fucking save both our skins.” I’m not even convincing myself.

     “How am I to know that if I give you a gun right now that you won’t shoot us,” Gerard sighs.

     “I… I wouldn’t… you could just… I don’t fucking know, I pinkie promise?!” I groan loudly.

     Gerard snorts, “Right.”

     “You could both point a gun at me until I leave?” I say desperately. “Aim at me until I’m down the stairs, I don’t fucking know!”

     Gerard and Mikey exchange looks. “How do you even know this? If they kicked you out.”

     “I had two actual friends in Venom. One you shot, Mikey. Either you or Guy, but he was my only fucking friend in the world. Then there was Ronnie who was my housemate and gang brother but I never thought we were close, but like me he lost his only friend, Ryan, and he says he doesn’t want to lose his last friend.” Gerard looks hurt. Hurt for me or hurt that I never counted him as a friend. Or maybe just hurt that his brother shot my friend. Whatever it is, it softens me. “He’s been sending me notes. I have one real shot, tomorrow. I need to find a weapon by them or I’m off to Canada to live my life as a moose. You guys are a little more tied down here.”

     “How can I fucking believe you?” Gerard groans.

     I shake my head, “you can’t I guess. Enjoy the paranoia I’ve been living with since I was fourteen,” I spit and make a turn for the door. It was a stupid idea to come here anyway. The flat smells homely though. And the creaky parts of the floor ring a sentimental tune. _Why are you fucking getting mushy over this asshole’s floor_ I snap at myself.

     I’m nearly at the door when Gerard sighs dramatically, “Fuck it, wait.” I turn around and see Mikey disappear into Gerard’s room. “I swear to God Frank, you kill me and I’ll haunt your ass into eternity.” He runs his hands through his hair. He must have dyed it since I was kicked out but his roots are making a comeback already. He looks at me softly and murmurs, “How’s the nightmares?”

     “They follow me around day time too,” I say, taken aback. “You’re a feature of them all the time now too,” I find myself saying, for some reason.

     He bites his lip, pained. “I’m sorry,” I says softly. Then his face hardens again, “I hope you know I dream about the situation, in reverse.”

     Before I can ask him what the fuck that’s supposed to mean Mikey returns with three guns. He hands one to Gerard, who loads it and cocks it to face me. His hands shake violently and his face is pale. Mikey then hands me one and loads his own. I shove mine in the back of my pants and pull down my jacket.

     “Want me to let you know how it goes?” I ask opening the door.

     Gerard shakes his head, “We’ll find out pretty quickly.” They watch me, guns on my back until I turn the corners and descend into the orange-lit street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I've decided which way i want to end this XD   
> This is not the original way guys, if you knew what it was you'd probably thank me XD   
> Thanks for reading and le final chapter will be up as soon as it's written. 
> 
> (PERSONAL RANT I have to open a bank tomorrow in school /.\ i'm the assistant manager for some reason but the people bellow me have literally taken over and not told me anything other than to do my hair nicely tomorrow because my photo will be in the local newspaper. Like what?? Tomorrow is an own clothes day and i'd just decided what bandshirt to wear and now i have to wear my uniform uggggghhhh. RANT OVER)


	12. Give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill

Today is going to be horrible. SO fucking horrible. I have a half day of work so at three, when I’m finished, I walk into Jersey and hide out the back of my first home. There’s an old green, rusting swing set there that I wasn’t aloud play on as a child. There was always disturbed people on drugs just sitting there, staring into empty space. I guess this is why I feel so comfortable here.

     I sit and stare blankly at the grey walls of my old building. Yesterday Ray expressed his concern for me again and I brushed him off saying, “My life’s been in danger since I was fourteen. If I die tomorrow, don’t worry about me or I’ll fucking haunt you.” He backed off but looked concerned constantly. I feel the gun in my belt. I think I should thank Ray again, he did pretty much save me.

     A cold breeze stings my cheek and I look up to see three kids staring at me.

     “Shouldn’t you be in school?” I say.

     “School’s over two hour’s man,” the oldest looking one says. A guy in a snap back cap and oversized jacket.

     “Oh yea.”

     “Are you okay, sir? My mom says that sad people sit on them swings,” a little girl asks wide eyed.

     “Yea, I’m good.” I stand up and feel the cool gun rub off my skin. “I guess I’ll leave if I don’t suit here,” I smile meekly and begin to tread off toward the street. I can feel the kids staring at me as I leave. I wonder I any of them will ever get out of here. I thought when I was younger that I could make a band or something and get big and important in the world. I guess nobody really makes it. I guess nobody really leaves.

     Its quarter past six when I stand at the mouth of the alley way that Ronnie brought me and Ryan down years ago. I feel the eeriness associated with dank alleyways and darkening skies. I feel comfortable with my gun to hand and my years of memories of being randomly attacked in alleys. Still, the thought of what I’m about to do.

     I walk slowly through the alleys and finally reach the back entrance to the building. It’s a quarter to seven and the fucking fire escape ladder is lowered for me.

     This could be a set up.

     This could so easily be a set up. I sit down on the wet ground under the ladder as it begins to rain. I think I feel a shard of glass piercing my jeans but if that is the only injury I leave with today I’ll be overjoyed.

     Ten minutes pass before I decide to scale the ladder.

     This is a slow process. I remember exactly where all the squeaks, creeks and weak bars are. I look in through a crack in the curtains. Ronnie is talking harshly to Stan. He spots me and nods slightly. After another few harsh gestures he picks up a gun and storms out the door. The window shakes as he slams the door. Stan rubs his face and goes into the bathroom.

     I take this as my chance and slip in the window quietly and load my gun. My heart is beating so fast and so loud I’m afraid it will alert Stan.

     When he returns from the bathroom with his fly down and his hand down his pants I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more horrified and confused expression.

     I point the gun at his chest and his hand slides out of his trousers and into the air, “Frank?”

     “Well observed,” I growl. _Kill him._

     “You’re going to kill me Frankie?” he says in an amused tone, thiugh the wobble in his voice says otherwise.

      I nod. “Then do it,” he says darlingly.

      I pull the trigger and before I can think I fire. He falls down but the blood is seeping from his shoulder, not chest.

     “Fuck it!” I cry and cock the gun again, walking over quickly to Stan who is wincing and cursing as he bleeds. With one arm he pushes himself upward.

     “You fucking cunt! You’re killing me? For what! I didn’t kill your little friend. It was the people you refused to kill that did. Why didn’t you get revenge you little cock-sucking faggot?! Why didn’t you kill them for Ryan? Is it because you were sucking his cock? And liking it this time? I should be the one shooting you, you fucking faggot,” I stare down at him unfazed. He’s only helping me to not feel bad about pulling the trigger.

     I press my foot into his shoulder and he cries out in pain. When I release again he stares up through tear stained eyes, “you’re into torture Iero, you disgusting animal.”

     “We shouldn’t pick and choose our laws,” I whisper and point my gun at his head.

      The door flies open and I’m forced to turn around, gun poised. I feel Stan attempt to stand and I push him back with a foot to the bullet wound. His cries almost drown out Jay’s gasp of horror, “Frank?”

      “Hi Jay,” I say. His gun rises and levels with my chest. _Well I got to cause a lot of pain to a man i hate. Maybe if he shoots me the right way I’ll land on Stan’s bullet wound. That would be a good death._

     Only Jay doesn’t fire. He just holds the gun pointed to my head and starts forward, “Jay?! Jay shoot him!” Stan pleads from the floor. Jay just continues forwards. “Jay!”

     My heart is beating rapidly. Jay reaches me and puts his gun to my head. I swallow. “I like you a lot,” Jay says in a shaky voice, “you were always nicer to me than everyone else.” He sighs. I think that now would be the optimum time to pray if I was religious. “Fucking shoot him before I shoot you,” Jay cries.

     Stan makes a noise of protest, silenced only by the clap of the gun.

 

If you’ve never seen someone with a bullet wound in the head you are both missing out and so fucking lucky. I’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds. Fatal ones like Ryan’s and the boss’s, then there’s ones like Jay’s. It’s like a black hole in someone, but one to the brain is special. It’s a circle into someone’s mind. Just behind that gruesome ring is the chemicals that react just so to make you different. Literally the person’s entire personality was contained possibly in the place where that bullet now is. It’s just weird to see.

     Jay and I sit on the couch afterwards. I’m not a good guy but now I think I must be a bad guy, I just fucking killed someone. Jay texted “Boss is dead” and people have been returning in drips and drabs since them. Some of them are pissed off, some are happy. No one shows any sign of grief.

     When everyone arrives the room is so crowded and noisy and I can’t see a thing. I find Ronnie and he pulls us over to the kitchen counter on which we both kneel. “Alright,” Ronnie says. People continue muttering. “Pay attention assholes I’m not up here for a fucking striptease.”

     Everyone shuts up and stares at us. Some smirk at Ronnie’s remark. “I didn’t invite Frank to kill Stan so that we could descend into anarchy,” blank faces stare up. Ronnie forgets sometimes that they speak New Jersey, not dictionary grade English. He sighs, “I mean, Stan was going mad, you all fucking saw it and I knew that none of us could kill him, the no weapons thing. And when he threatened to kill my friend here,” he pats my shoulder, “my last fucking friend, you bag of assholes, I thought it was time to end it. Now I believe we need a new leader.”  
     Before Ronnie could say another word Jay speaks up, “Frank.”

     Ronnie shuts his mouth and everyone goes dead silent, staring at me. I don’t know what to say so I wait for someone else to speak. “Yea okay. Frank.”

     “Yea, Frank.”

     “Frank.”

     “I’d prefer Frank to the rest of you,” someone grumbles.

     After a few minutes of silence Ronnie speaks up, “well I was going to say have a vote but I guess we did. So… Frank, will you be the leader?”

     “What the fuck,” I say incredulously, “I wasn’t here for months, I was kicked out and you want me to be the fucking boss!?”

     “Yea pretty much,” Jay shrugs.

 

The first thing I do as “boss” is buy a new flat. Well the first thing I did was tell Ray I’m alive. Then I throw up. Then I tell Ray that I won’t be home.

     Then, I buy a new apartment. You couldn’t pay me to stay another hour in the apartment that haunts me. No one questions me on this. People usually would be unhappy with me randomly buying a flat but this was different.

     I run Venom normally for about three days. Or well as “normal” as I could, taking care of all the finances.

     “And how much did that cost us?” I demand. Chubs and Jay had got into a knife fight and the car got wrecked.

     Chubs shrugs, “I can get it fixed for five thousand. Or close.”

     I sigh and rub my eyes. “We can’t afford this until we get into New York,” I say matter-of-factly.

     Chubs nods but my phone answers for me. “One sec,” I say answering, “Hello.”

     “Hi Frank,” the voice sends shivers down my spine. “I heard you survived.”

     “Hi Gerard,” I choke out, “I did. I guess you’ll want me dead next.”

     “Ah so you’re the boss now. I have a proposition.”

     “I’m listening.”

     “Can I come over?”

     “Uh okay.”

     “Good, open the front door.”

     Ronnie who was sitting on the couch raises his eyebrows at me as I walk toward my door. Chubs walks over to sit beside him, shrugging.

     “Hey,” Gerard says when I open the door. Mikey and Guy pile in after him.

     “Fuck…” I scratch the back of my neck. I forgot this is how Gerard works. “Come on in guys. This is Ronnie and Chubs. Ronnie and Chubs, this is Gerard, leader of MG. His brother Mikey and… Guy.” Ronnie is standing and reaching for his gun. Chubs is sitting but his hands are at his belt, probably at his weapons. “Relax. They won’t shoot and if they try we have friends in this building.” I smile. “What do you want?”

     Gerard walks over and takes a seat at the kitchen table. After he’s made himself comfortable he begins talking. “Frank, want to be my partner.”

     “What?” I scoff.

     “Want to be my partner, I said. Do you want to join our gangs?”

     I sit down in a heap. Can no one do anything as expected anymore? Is it the cool new thing to just do the last thing anyone would ever expect of you? It’s fucking driving me insane, in the way that my mind has been so busy trying to anticipate it all that I haven’t had time to be stalked by my own nightmares.

     I scratch the back of my neck. “Gerard…”

     “Our combined force could really make us the biggest gang in New York too. Just think about it.”

     “How the fuck can we trust you?” Ronnie growls, “and how the fuck did you find us.”

     “Oh easy. Ray told me. We trusted Frank. Frank can also tell you what trust means to me,” he shoots me a sideways glance. I feel my heart beating stupidly loud again.

     “What if we don’t want to?” Ronnie challenges.

     “Ronnie. Gerard, I will consider this.” I say. My mind is so full of different thoughts.

     “To seal the deal we could live together,” Gerard says to me. “The leaders of a gang always do.”

      I shake my head and start pacing. A habit I got off Gerard. “You can’t just do this.”

      “Why can’t I?” Gerard is smiling.

      I make a distressed noise in the back of my throat and Gerard gets up. “I’ll be looking for an answer either way just remember I won’t be able to kill you anyway.” And with that the MG party leave. When I deem them well out of earshot I throw myself to the floor and shout into the floorboards. Fuck the neighbours they can endure my exasperation.

     After a while of lying on the ground Ronnie crouches down beside me. “You’re going to do it aren’t you?”

     I sigh into the dusty floor, “Of course I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, sorry if this ending is shite!   
> XD sorry. Just the other ending was so sad and i wasn't in the mood for something heartbreaking.   
> Thank you for reading and please leave some feedback :) I have ideas for another three fics now which i can't wait to start. If you for some reason liked this then you may want to check out my other fics XD thanks again sooo much :))

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or grossed out or anything, I was not lying when I clicked the archive warnings  
> There's nothing really fluffy or cute about this one...  
> Yet...  
> I wanted to try my hand at writing something much darker. I had this idea only it's hard to write as a character younger than me, even if only by little bit. That's why it may have a weird feel to it but the characters will be older next chapter.  
> I'll put up maybe two more, at least, see if the interest is there and if so I shall continue :)


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